


Something Of My Own

by LavenderMalaise



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-27
Updated: 2019-09-09
Packaged: 2019-10-17 10:27:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 24,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17558663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LavenderMalaise/pseuds/LavenderMalaise
Summary: AU that begins just after OOTP.  A grieving Harry draws some clear conclusions about how his own passivity and the well-intended manipulations of others have caused him more harm than good. Determined to be the master of his own destiny, he swallows his pride and reaches out for help, gaining more than he ever thought possible.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> a/n This is my very first fic, and it insists on being written, despite the other ideas that came before it and will hopefully eventually get written as well. It is very much a work in progress, but I'm hoping that posting some of it will give me the push I need to write the rest. It's pretty much canon through OOTP, except for the fact that I've aged Harry up by a year.

Harry Potter could not remember a time when he felt more miserable.  This was not his first experience with loss, but it gutted him as if it were.  His godfather was dead, through the veil; and with him had gone the final vestiges of Harry’s negligible childhood.   He was orphaned once again, abandoned on Privet Drive, left to grieve alone. The Dursleys, by some miracle, had been fairly docile since his return seven days prior.  Their words were no less harsh, but they pretty much let him be so long as his long list of chores was completed each day. Thus, having had a solid week to do little more than think while he mindlessly completed his daily labors, Harry had come to some unsettling conclusions.  

First, he was an idiot.  Not from a cognitive or developmental standpoint, of course, but he was an idiot nonetheless.  What had he been thinking, dragging a bunch of teenagers to the Department of Mysteries? Not for the first time, he had been rash and reckless, and too damn trusting.  The price of these errors was staggering. He simply couldn’t afford to make the same mistakes again. It was a bitter lesson indeed.

Second, while there was a nice long list of people whose poor judgment had lead to the catastrophe at the Ministry, the real blame for Sirius’ death lay solely at the feet of Bellatrix Lestrange and her mad master.  There was simply no more time for wallowing or alienating potential allies for dissatisfying crumbs of vengeance. The rage that Harry had unleashed on the Headmaster’s office had served only to destroy shiny objects and highlight Harry’s youth and lack of coping skills.  Harry knew that smothering his emotions would be a futile endeavor, given his Gryffindor heart; but surely there was a way to channel them, much like his wand channeled his magic. He needed to figure out how.

Third - and this conclusion left him reeling - Albus Dumbledore could not be trusted.  Harry had no doubt that the old man cared for him, perhaps even loved him. However, Dumbledore was also a general in the war against evil, and Harry his identified weapon. He had withheld too much information for Harry’s comfort and had left Harry ill-prepared for both life in the wizarding world and the fulfillment of that blasted prophecy.  Harry had not had an easy life, thus far. Yet, despite all of the loneliness, pain, and sadness he had endured, he found joy in small things, and treasured every ounce of love and kindness that came his way. Harry valued all life, but perhaps Dumbledore did not expect Harry to live beyond his usefulness. If so, Harry thought that was a rather pertinent piece of information; and he resented being left in the dark and left at the mercy of others.   

Finally, and most importantly, Harry knew he was in over his head.  His own life, and the lives of every single person he knew and cared for, was in constant danger.  He needed knowledge, skills, and help; and the standard 7-year Hogwarts curriculum (plus the endless interference from well meaning friends and adults) was simply not going to cut it.  Harry needed a teacher - a mentor who would tell him the truth and teach him how to survive. He could think of only one person who would suit, a man who detested him and was already in the service of too many masters.   This was going to take real work - humility, patience, self-control, and a leap of faith that even a quintessential Gryffindor would balk at. But there was no other choice. Harry was simply done being a bystander in his own life.  It was time to take action, make his own alliances, and get prepared for the fight of his life - the fight _for_ his life.  He completed his first draft of what was possibly the most important letter he would ever write, and finally went to sleep, his head swimming with plans.  


	2. An Unexpected Lesson in Wizarding Genetics

With his chores complete and the Dursleys gone for the entire day, Saturday was the perfect time to put his plan in motion. Harry left the back door unlocked, and walked quickly to Mrs. Figg’s house. He had not seen the elderly squib since his underage-use-of-magic trial the previous year, and he wasn’t completely sure how well he would be received. He had surmised that she had been surveilling him for Professor Dumbledore, but that was the extent of his knowledge. His experience with squibs was severely limited, and he found himself considering the merits of Hermione’s encyclopedic approach to the world. But Hermione was at home with her parents, and would most certainly not approve of his plans. He was on his own this time, and it was time to get moving. He took a deep breath and knocked. The door opened immediately, and Mrs. Figg’s eyes widened in surprise. 

“Harry? Is that you?”

“Yes, Mrs. Figg. I apologize for stopping by unannounced. Would you happen to have some time to speak with me?”

Though visibly confused, the squib smiled kindly at him. “Of course, dear. Do come in. The little ones are all resting, except Mr. Whiskers, and I was just about to have a cup of tea.”

Harry gave a relieved smile of his own and followed her into the house. He glanced at the aforementioned Mr. Whiskers, who was sitting on his throw pillow throne atop an overstuffed, tattered armchair. Harry gasped. “Mr. Whiskers is a kneazle?!”

“Of course, dear,” replied Mrs. Figg, with a sly smile. “Although, one can only see him as a kneazle if one knows what a kneazle is.” 

Harry was dumbfounded. “You mean to say, that Mr. Whiskers has always been a kneazle, but I saw him as a cat back when I had no knowledge of the wizarding world?” 

“Something like that,” said Mrs. Figg. “Feral kneazles are able to fit into the muggle world by disguising themselves as cats, or rather, tricking muggle minds into seeing them as such. My kneazles are domestic familiars, though,” she said with pride. “They’re charmed so that only those with knowledge of the magical world can see them as they truly are.” 

“That’s amazing,” said Harry. “Only - if you’ve no magic, how…” he trailed off, not sure how to politely inquire about the charm. To his relief, Mrs. Figg chuckled. 

“I’m a squib, not a muggle, young man. I am a part of the magical world. And, as such, I do have family members with wands. My cousins on my father’s side are the primary breeders of kneazles in Britain and Ireland. I help to train and foster those that are going into mixed homes in the wizarding world.”

“I had no idea. I hope I haven’t offended you, Mrs. Figg. There’s just so much I don’t know,” Harry said sadly. 

Mrs. Figg’s eyes softened, and she gave him a warm, genuine smile. “Dear boy, you’ve been immersed in the wizarding world for all of five years, and have had all sorts of crazed wizards and dark creatures chasing you for most of that time. I’d venture to say that you’ve been a mite bit too busy to bother with trivialities like wizarding genetics and the manner in which the crazy old cat-lady down the way supplements her income. Not to worry about offending me with honest questions. I’m made of sterner stuff than you realize.”

“I’ve much to learn, it seems, and I guess wizarding genetics just got added to the list,” Harry smiled sheepishly. 

“Tell me, Harry, how much experience have you had with squibs?”

“Not much. I only found out you were a squib last summer, and there’s Mr. Filch at Hogwarts….”

“Oh dear. Your elderly babysitter and the odious Argus Filch are your only examples? I’m positive this isn’t what brought you here, but if it’s teaching you want, I can give you your first lesson right now.”

Harry was surprised to find that despite his careful planning and the long list of things he needed to accomplish today, he wanted to hear what Mrs. Figg had to share on the subject. He thought Hermione would be quite proud of his new thirst for knowledge. “Please, go on,” he said. “I’d like to know more.”

For the next hour, Mrs. Figg shared tea, biscuits, and a unique perspective on a somewhat hush-hush part of wizarding culture. She taught him the most obvious differences between muggles, squibs, and wizards - wizards have active magical cores, squibs have a magical signature, but inactive or absent magical cores, and muggles have no inherited magic at all. Hence, squibs could recognize and feel magic, but harnessing it and channeling it through a wand was only possible with an active magical core. Squibs also tended to have longer life spans than muggles, but shorter than wizards. All of this made sense, but Harry was shocked to find out that most squibs are born into pureblood families, and that when Mrs. Figg was born approximately one in every 50 wizarding births was a squib. It was one of the reasons that many of the elite pureblood families chose to have fewer children. 

“Wait a minute - that’s a lot of squibs. What happened to them all - are they all just in the muggle world? And if they are, how did they get there? Purebloods don’t know anything about muggles. It’s hard enough fitting into the wizarding world when you’re muggle-raised. I can’t even imagine one of my pureblood friends attempting to function in my primary school!” 

“All good questions,” Mrs. Figg replied patiently.   
As it turned out, she was from a rather open-minded pureblood family herself. The Figgs on her father’s side had welcomed Arabella with warmth and love; and the Princes, on her mother’s side, with a slightly colder acceptance that suited their status. Arabella had a happy early childhood, learning at home with her older brother, playing with all of her wizarding cousins, and feeling very much a part of the wizarding world. With no muggle relatives to rely on, and no available schooling specifically for squibs, the Figgs had called upon muggle-born and half-blood friends to help orient Arabella to muggle culture and to find a suitable foster placement for her once she was of age to attend school. 

“They sent you away?!,” said Harry, somewhat indignantly. He knew quite well how it felt to be the unwanted burden of a negligent foster family. 

“No, no. You misunderstand. They didn’t abandon me. Not at all. The Carlisles were muggles with family connections to the wizarding world. They became my “Auntie” and “Uncle,” and they taught me everything about how to live and fit in in the muggle world. I still went home to my parents on most weekends and holidays. I had the opportunity to grow up in both worlds. I was one of the lucky ones.”

“What to you mean,” asked Harry. “What happened to the unlucky ones?”

Mrs. Figg’s responding expression was a complex combination of ferocious rage and deep sadness. “Many of my generation were lost,” she said quietly. “To this day, squibs are a taboo subject to many pureblood families. We’re considered a weak genetic link or even a disgrace - a failure of blood. For the elite families, the known presence of squibs in the family bloodline can be grounds for nullifying marriage contracts and other alliances. Our existence is a visible, tangible challenge to the entire concept of blood status. When the incidence of squibs had increased to one in every 50, the public demanded that Minister Oglethorpe attend to the problem. His proposed solution was voluntary outplacement - having squibs fostered by or adopted into muggle families. He appointed a resource secretary to liaise with families, and effectively washed his hands of the issue. But there was no oversight or standard set of regulations, and families were left to their own devices.” She paused for a moment to take a sip of tea and giving Harry a moment for his own thoughts. Harry shivered as he imagined how some of the “elite” pureblood families he knew might have seen fit to “care” for their squib offspring. 

“Were they murdered?” he whispered, fearful of the answer. 

“Some of them were, I’m sure of it,” replied Mrs. Figg. “The increase in reported still-births and the fad of glamour-hidden pregnancies certainly indicated as much. However, it was much more common for squibs to be abandoned in orphanages in the muggle world or trained to be servants for wealthy wizarding families.”

“They were just left in the muggle world with no explanation or oversight? What happened when they came in contact with magic or felt something that others couldn’t see?”  
“What would you have thought under those circumstances?” Mrs. Figg asked gently.

Harry paled. “I’d think I was going mad. And muggles like the Dursleys would agree that I was mad. Oh, Merlin.” Harry was horrified. 

Mrs. Figg patted Harry’s hand and gave him a sad, watery smile. “As I said, I was fortunate. I always knew exactly who and what I was. There were many families like mine - people who loved their children and would not allow them to remain solely in the wizarding world, only to be treated as a second-class citizens. Unlike the elite families, who either hid their squibs away or paid “agents” to get rid of them, our families learned how to collaborate with each other and with muggles. There’s a whole network of us. Kneazles are my hobby, but the Squib Family Network is my passion project. I’ve squib friends and contacts living alongside muggles all over the world. We connect with wizarding families, provide placements when necessary, and help the younger generation to navigate both worlds as well as they can. There are fewer of us now, but as long as there are wizards, there are likely to be squibs. We’ve got to look out for each other.”

“You started a network yourselves? That’s brilliant, Mrs. Figg! “I can’t believe that there are magical folks rotting in muggle psychiatric wards and the ministry does nothing about it. My history of magic professor is a literal ghost who drones on endlessly about goblin wars and says nothing about this! Is it still happening? You said there are fewer of you. Do you know why?”

Not for the first time, Arabella was struck by Harry’s compassion and righteous indignation. She rarely discussed these issues with wizards, but his sincerity was obvious, as were the many merits of having a champion in The Boy Who Lived. 

“So many questions”, she said,laughing. “Oglethorpe wasn’t a bad man - and I reckon that his recommendations did save some lives - but he set the example for ongoing ignorance and substandard care for squibs that the Ministry still follows today. There are most definitely fewer of us - approximately one in every 250 is a documented squib birth in our region. And..,” she paused, considering.

“Yes?”

“We do know why - not that anyone wants to hear it, mind. The research indicates that an increase in intermarriage amongst purebloods, half-bloods, muggleborns, and muggles, has actually reduced the number of squib births. There’s a squib geneticist in the U.S. who’s been researching for the past 20 years. His mantra is that a diverse gene pool is a healthy gene pool and he believes that inbreeding amongst purebloods caused a genetic condition in which the body of a developing fetus attacks and destroys its own magical core. His hypothesis is that there are no true muggleborns. Rather, the interbreeding of squibs and muggles over multiple generations can actually repair the genetic breakdown and result in new generations with functioning magical cores. It will take decades to research, but it’s groundbreaking. And dangerous.”

“I can see why,” said Harry. “It challenges everything the blood purists stand for. I can think of a few families who would go to extreme measures to make sure that research never leaks to the general population.”

“As can I,” replied Mrs. Figg. “I’ll thank you to guard this information carefully.”

“I will,” promised Harry. “Though I’m going to need to connect you to my friend Hermione someday, Mrs. Figg. She’s a brilliant, strong, muggle-born witch, and I’m sure she’d have about a million questions for you.”

“I’d be pleased to meet her as well,” Mrs. Figg said, companionably. 

“Um. Mrs. Figg? Don’t take this the wrong way, please, but you’re rather more clever than I ever realized. Can I ask - did you have a career in the muggle world as well?” He looked up at the old woman rather guiltily.

To Harry’s great relief, Arabella Figg laughed heartily. “There are merits to keeping one’s true strengths to oneself, Harry. It was a far better cover for you to think of me as the odd cat-lady, and your Aunt and Uncle would never have allowed you here if they had thought you’d enjoy my company.”

Harry’s lips quirked into an amused smile. “Are your wizarding relations Slytherins by any chance, Mrs. Figg?”

It was odd to see a cheerful smirk on the old woman’s face. “Slytherins and Hufflepuffs, the lot of them. And as for me, I’ve a double Ph.D. in Clinical Social Work and Social Anthropology. I was a clinician for 40 years, and a professor for the last 20 before I retired. I’m not sure what the neighbors think, though. Just once, I’d love to tell the nosy lot that I make a living training magical cats….” She noticed that Harry had gone rather still, and his smile had frozen into more of a grimace.

“You - you were a social worker?” he asked quietly.

“Yes. I was. Go on and ask me, love. I daresay you’ve a right to know.” She answered him just as quietly, and with an air of sadness and shame that had not previously been present,

Harry cleared his throat. “I’ve not your intelligence, Mrs. Figg, but I’ve figured out that you were keeping an eye on me for Dumbledore. How did you come to be my minder?”

“I’ve known the Dumbledores since I was a girl. Albus’ brother, Aberforth was friendly with my brother, Augustus. Albus contacted me and asked me to relocate to Little Whinging when you were four years old. His previous contact had been removed to a convalescent home, and he needed an agent who would be able to to alert him if there was any trouble, while simultaneously fitting seamlessly into the muggle community. I was ready to retire, and was happy for the opportunity to help protect the wizarding world’s littlest hero. It was easy enough to flatter Petunia for ‘the great sacrifices’ she made by agreeing to raise you and to indicate my willingness to take you off of her hands when needed. I finally met you on your fifth birthday.”

A fuzzy memory began to take shape in Harry’s mind. “We ate lemon squares and did a cat puzzle, yeah?”

“Yes. We did. I so wanted to give you a nice day, but I knew they’d never let you come back if you were too enthusiastic about it. You were too young for subterfuge.”

“And too emotional,” added Harry. “You knew what they were like - even then?”

She nodded, the sadness in her eyes evident.

“Did you tell Dumbledore? Did he know?” The last sentence was a near whisper. 

“Yes,” she replied, her voice like steel, her expression fierce. “Oh, yes - four times per year, since you were five years old, the Headmaster has received my owls. I told him everything, Harry - how thin you were, and how very alone. I told him your clothes didn’t fit properly, your medical care was substandard, you were placed in a cupboard and worked like a house elf, and that your environment was nothing short of abusive and neglectful. I pleaded with him to remove you. I offered to take you myself or place you with one of my contacts. He refused, citing your safety as the reason. He was so condescending too, mentioning blood wards like I couldn’t possibly understand them. My instructions were always the same - keep him apprised of the situation, only intervene if you were in imminent danger or in the event of a magical attack.”

Harry nodded thoughtfully. He wasn’t really surprised, but the confirmation still hurt. “Thank you for trying,” he murmured.

“It wasn’t nearly enough,” said Mrs. Figg. “ I want you to know that I didn’t stop there, Harry. I sent reports to the muggle authorities as well - once per month for nearly three years. I didn’t understand why no one ever investigated, so I called in a favor from a friend. She searched the agency records and found that there was nothing with your name on it. Further investigation showed us that all correspondence with your name on disappeared immediately upon entry into the state’s computer system. Almost like-”

“Magic,” Harry supplied, grimly.

“Indeed. It would be an easy enough charm for someone who had access to the system - and there is cooperation between the Ministry of Magic and the office of the Prime Minister. 

“Do you think there were others who tried to help me?” Harry trembled as he said it, but his voice was steady and clear. 

“I honestly don’t know. I’d like to think that your teachers tried. You were always a kind, gentle boy. You deserved better from all of us. I told him as much - Albus, I mean. I threatened to appeal to the minister or go to the press. Let’s just say he reminded me of my place and of the precarious credibility and position of squibs in general.” Her lips pressed to a thin line., her eyes dark as she got lost in the unpleasant memory. 

Harry sucked in a deep breath. “He threatened the network then. And I’d bet he softened the blow by suggesting the mutual benefits of having squib presence in the Order of the Phoenix. “

Arabella looked down, clearly ashamed. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t know how else to help you.”

“It’s not your fault, Mrs. Figg. And I’ve turned out all right. I just wish I had known that you were here for me, though. I’m glad to know it now.” He paused, thinking. “In fact, I can think of two - no - three things you can help me with right now, if you’re willing. If we’re discreet and careful, they won’t put us or anyone we care about in danger.”

Mrs. Figg regarded him shrewdly. “It seems I’m not the only one with some well-hidden Slytherin tendencies.”

Harry chuckled. “I can think of a certain tattered old hat that would wholeheartedly (did semi-sentient hats have hearts?) agree with you.”

“What did you have in mind?”

“Well, I need muggle identification, apparently using a name that is not jinxed or charmed to alert the Ministry of Magic, and I need access to a decent library. I doubt the local branch will let me in dressed as shabbily as I am, and there’s no way the Dursleys will get me a library card or decent clothes.

Mrs. Figg paused to think, then nodded, smiling. “If you won’t be missed at home, the library and clothing are easily dealt with. We can take my car to the Guilford branch and either use my card or get you one of your own once we’ve got the identification settled. You can keep any books or clothes you need here in the spare room. We might want to consider a disguise as well, in case the nosey-roseys of the neighborhood take notice of our comings and goings. Once we’ve decided on your muggle name, I’ll get the network moving on your papers. That’s only two things though. What is the third?”

Harry regarded her nervously. “I need access to an owl that is unknown to the Headmaster. Even if I had the option of sending my Hedwig, she’s too well-known and would be intercepted immediately. I need to send an inconspicuous letter to a potential ally. A potential ally who is not fond of me, and who might very well rat me out to Dumbledore. Oh, and I can’t use any protective spells, of course.”

“That sounds risky.”

“It is risky, but I can’t see how my plans can proceed without this man’s help. Based on our history, my desperation will be tempting, and I’ve also offered what I’m hoping is an irresistible boon.”

Mrs. Figg hesitated, clearly torn. “What is it you’ve offered, Harry?”

“Can’t say - only I can assure you that it’s mine to give and won’t put anyone else at risk.”

She sighed, still ill-at-ease. “All right. I’m happy to lend you my owl, Harry, but if the correspondence is to be linked to me, I insist on at least having the name of the recipient.”

Harry nodded, then gazed at her intently. “I need to contact Professor Severus Snape.”

For the second time of the afternoon, Mrs. Figg looked considerably younger as a sly smirk took over her features. “That won’t be a problem. You leave your letter with me. Artemis will deliver it this evening. Am I to assume that the reply is to be directed here?”

Harry nodded again, looking the slightest bit sheepish. “I was feeling optimistic that you might at least agree to receive owls for me. I apologize if it was too presumptuous.” 

“Not at all. Now, how much time have we got before those dreadful relatives of yours return home for the night? If we’re quick about it, we can go out for some supplies and a bite to eat. I quite fancy an outing, how about you?”

Harry responded with a blinding smile and a sincere, “Thank you, Mrs. Figg.”

One hour later, the clerk at Second Chance Consignment waved a cheerful goodbye to the rather handsome “Evan Lilson” and his adorable “Granny Arabella,” as they carried two large parcels out to the car. “Evan” had been so pleased with his purchases that he insisted on wearing one of his outfits out of the shop and his “Granny” had repeatedly refused his offer to pay her back once he was able to get to the bank. 

Four hours later, a tawny owl named Artemis set off into the night, with two scrolls of parchment secured tightly to her pouch.


	3. A Rather Shocking Correspondence

It was a little known fact that Arabella Madea Prince Figg and Severus Tobias Prince Snape were second cousins, once removed.  Their mothers had been close, and Loriana Figg had helped the younger Eileen Snape to cope with the Prince family’s less than favorable response to Eileen’s decision to marry and procreate with a muggle.  Loriana had long since become accustomed to her family’s bemusement and occasional disgust with her insistence on openly raising her squib daughter as an equal member of wizarding society. Arabella had inherited Loriana’s ferocity along with her Hufflepuff father’s warmth.  She was a strong, formidable woman, and fiercely protective of those she loved. 

While their temperaments and outward appearances would suggest otherwise, ‘Bell’ and ‘Sev’ got on quite well and had continued their mothers’ tradition of regular correspondence. Arabella had been known to dote on her dour “baby cousin;” and she was one of very few people who truly knew him well.  She was well aware of Severus’ stint as a Death Eater, and had forgiven him his tresspasses long ago. Severus had no problem with the fact that Arabella was a squib. He appreciated her keen intellect and wicked sense of humor; and he respected her ability to navigate both of her worlds with grace and aplomb.  She had been his safe harbor on many occasions, and her unconditional love for him was one of the few things he trusted in the world.

When Arabella had been introduced and inducted into the Order of the Phoenix, Severus had been inwardly shocked to see her in that capacity.  Knowing his skill for Legilimency, she had gazed at him intently, silently communicating her intention of keeping their connection hidden. He surmised that she had been given a mission of her own, and they were both intelligent enough to understand that the less they knew of one another’s Order-related affairs, the safer they’d both be.  She played the part of the clueless, just-happy-to-be-here, enthralled squib beautifully, and Severus had been interested to see that Dumbledore had no clue who he was dealing with. Albus’ brilliance came at the price of his arrogance, and his condescension towards Arabella was a source of both amusement and consternation for Severus. Bias was not limited to blood-purists, it seemed.  

It was only one week into his summer “holiday”, and Severus’ patience with both of his benevolent masters was stretched dangerously thin.  Following the death of Sirius Black and the Ministry’s forced acknowledgement of the Dark Lord’s return, the Death Eaters were getting restless.  Wormtail had been sent to Spinner’s End to “assist” Severus. Voldemort was, no doubt, quite pleased with himself. He had been able unload the revolting rat, and invade Severus’ limited privacy in one fell swoop.   However, no one could transform a hardship into an opportunity better than a Slytherin spy. Years of miscreant students had made Severus a master at crafting creative detentions. He could keep the rodent busy indefinitely - just not with potions.  As much as he’d enjoy the fallout of allowing a complete incompetent to brew for the Dark Lord, there was no way he was sacrificing the integrity of his craft. It was up to him to make subtle enough changes to the potions that their efficacy was diminished but their potency never questioned.  Severus’ skill at sabotage was an art form all its own. Wormtail’s current assignment, archiving and organizing 10 years worth of potions articles by potion subtype and ingredient base, had the potential to take him the rest of the summer. The rat’s immense displeasure at his task was a small consolation for the necessity of enduring his infuriating presence.

Dumbledore, not one to be outdone by his evil counterpart, had already sent three owls, urging Severus to reconsider Potter’s occlumency lessons next term, requesting weekly intelligence reports, and suggesting that Severus reach out to Draco during “his time of need.”  As if that weren’t enough, Albus also had the audacity to suggest that Severus find some time to “relax and recharge,” prior to what was likely to be a challenging (ha, try life-threatening) year. Severus had half a mind to call the old man on his bluff, and just bugger off for a few weeks.  

The arrival of Artemis to Spinner’s End on Saturday night was a welcome interruption to Severus’ routine.   He was preparing for bed when he heard the tapping on his bedroom window. Severus greeted his tawny visitor, once again glad he had thought to include an owl perch among his spartan furnishings. After the week he’d had, it was a delightful surprise to receive a letter from such a benign and welcome source as his cousin. He opened Artemis’ charmed pouch and found not one, but two scrolls safely ensconced within.  Only one was tied with Arabella’s signature silver and blue ribbon, and he opened it immediately.

 

_ My Dear HBP, _

_ Please read the enclosed letter in its entirety, despite any inclination you have to the contrary.  It was written by a boy whom I have known since his fifth birthday, and you have my personal assurance as to its legitimacy and sincerity.   I shall be prepared for your imminent arrival. We have much to discuss. _

_ Your Loving Cousin, _

_ Bell   _

  
  


Severus read the brief scroll no less than three times.  Despite the letter’s succinct and rather bossy tone, there was no doubt in his mind that his cousin had sent it.   There was no one else alive who would address him as the Half Blood Prince. Acutely aware of the chill that had been creeping up his spine, he slowly unrolled the second scroll, knowing that its contents were likely to be life-altering. 

  
_ Dear Sir, _

_ I sincerely hope that this letter finds you well.  I suspect that I am rather the last person you might expect or want to hear from, and while you owe me absolutely nothing, I pray that you will take the time to hear me out.   _

_ First, please know that I am deeply sorry for my egregious invasion of your privacy.  I had absolutely no right to any of your memories, particularly those that you had specifically set aside.  I can provide no reasonable excuse for my for my actions. The simple fact is that my curiosity got the best of me, and I grossly underestimated the potential impact of my impulse.  Much to my continued chagrin and detriment, even after five years in the wizarding world, I remain largely ignorant of wizarding culture, custom, and manners. Although I certainly knew that snooping was the wrong course of action, it was only after much reflection that I truly understood the severity of what I had done and how my motivations might have been viewed in light of our adversarial history.  It may therefore surprise you to know that I have kept my ill-gotten knowledge completely to myself. I took no satisfaction from what I witnessed. On the contrary, I remain quite disgusted by and ashamed of the actions of those to whom I am closely connected. Their behavior was inexcusable and has shed some light on the origins of the animosity that has flavored our interactions for far too long.  _

_ I would also like to express my gratitude for your interventions on behalf of my safety.  I have come to the conclusion that, without your actions, I might not have lived to see my 13th birthday.    Among those adults who bear some responsibility for my well-being, you appear to be the only one who does not: a) consider me invincible, b) believe that a series of adolescent near-death experiences is an appropriate training/character-shaping mechanism, or c) think that I am anything more than an average kid in over his head.  I assure you that I am quite aware that I am nothing special, and that my luck is bound to run out eventually. As much as I would like to live, I think I could accept a disastrous fate if it were just me. What I cannot do, is continue to be a constant source of danger to those around me. There is already too much blood on my hands, and every moment I remain a sitting duck is an act of disrespect towards those who have died or sacrificed so that I may live.  It is an act of disrespect towards you.  _

_ This leads me to a request - one I know I’ve no right to make - but here we are.  I need help, Sir. I need a mentor who will not coddle me, tell me pretty lies, or keep me in the dark in a misguided attempt to preserve my childhood or my innocence.  I need someone who is willing to teach me the things I need to know. I believe that I need you, though if you’ve any reasonable suggestions for other candidates, I’d certainly be willing to hear them.  I realize that your time and energy are scarce and valuable. If you agree to walk down this road with me, I am prepared to offer you something of value in return - something of my own. In addition to my commitment to your prescribed course of study and my implicit trust in you as my mentor, I offer you complete access to my memories - the truth as I have experienced it.  Perhaps if you are given the opportunity to truly know me, trust can go both ways.  _

_ Are you still reading, Sir?  If so, I thank you, for your time and your consideration. I trust that you will contact me when you have made your decision. My trusted neighbor and friend, Mrs. A.F. has agreed to receive any correspondence on my behalf.  Her coordinates are spelled into her owl’s pouch, and she is the only person other than you and myself who is aware of this letter’s existence. I’d like to keep it that way if you don’t mind. I look forward to your response.   _

_ Sincerely, _

_ A Reluctant Celebrity _

 

Severus stared at the parchment in his hand for a solid minute.  Shocked did not even begin to cover the range of emotions he was experiencing.  He was astounded, anxious, irritated, and rather grudgingly impressed. It seemed The Boy had finally bought a clue (and a dictionary).  Severus had a multitude of questions and concerns, the most urgent being about Arabella’s involvement and whether her safety had been compromised.  With a flick of his wand, he conjured and packed an overnight bag. He considered how best to convey his absence to his houseguest and settled on a vaguely worded note, spelled to be delivered in the morning. He beckoned to Artemis, and approached his bedroom fireplace, opening the private floo with a muttered password.  He grabbed a handful of floo powder, threw it into the flames, called his destination, and disappeared in a swirl of green flames. 


	4. Hard Truths

Arabella was dozing lightly on the sitting room sofa when the floo roared to life in a swirl of green flames.  Not feeling the need to stand on ceremony, she had changed into her dressing gown and robe, and settled in to wait for Severus, an empty glass and  bottle of his favorite scotch waiting on the coffee table in front of her. 

She opened her eyes to her cousin stepping gracefully out of the fireplace.  She gazed at him fondly, fully expecting the tirade that was coming.

“Bloody buggering hell, Arabella!  Are you well? What in bloody blazes is Harry Potter doing in Little Whinging, using your owl?  The last I heard of Lily’s parents, they had relocated to Kent! How dare he leave home and put you in danger like this.  The arrogant fool is going to get us all killed! ”

“Good evening to you too, Sev,” she responded calmly.  “I see you got my letter. Come and sit. You look like you could use a drink, dear.”

He opened his mouth to protest, but caught her look and opted to sit instead.  He poured himself a drink and stared at her expectantly.

“Harry Potter has lived in Little Whinging since the day his parents died.  To my knowledge, he has never met nor lived with his grandparents. I believe they passed on before James and Lily were killed.  I was strategically placed in the neighborhood when Harry was four years old. He knew me as his neighbor and occasional babysitter.  He had no knowledge of my connection to the magical world until last summer, when the Ministry sent dementors to engage him.” Arabella’s voice hardened considerably at the memory.    “My status as a squib was revealed to Harry when Albus called me to be a witness at his trial for use of underage magic. That poor child and his troll of a cousin could have been Kissed, and they almost caged him for protecting all three of us!  Such a disgrace.”

Severus’ eyes widened at the mention of these events.   He had been led to believe that Harry was living happily with his grandparents.  How had he not known of the Evans’ deaths? With whom was Harry living all this time?  His skin prickled as the suspected answers to his mental questions began to surface. As for last summer - he had been told about Potter casting a patronus, and the necessity of Albus intervening on his behalf,  but had naturally assumed that the spoiled brat had been seeking trouble as usual, and overreacted to a minor threat. Severus was genuinely shocked by Arabella’s confirmation that the dementor had been real and that she and one of Harry’s muggle relations had also been in danger.  It appeared he had been misled and misinformed. How could this be?

Arabella’s eyes narrowed in response.  “I’m hardly surprised to see that Albus downplayed that little catastrophe when he filled you in, but really Severus, how can you be shocked by this after everything else the boy has been through?  Surely you and his other professors have noted the condition he arrives in every year?”

Severus took a deep breath, and let it out slowly while pinching the bridge of his nose.  “Arabella, I’m going to need you to tell me everything you know about Harry Potter.”

Arabella’s slow nod and grim smile did nothing to soothe him.  She did as he asked - methodically detailing her infiltration into the Dursley’s world, her experiences with and observations of Harry, and her failed attempts to seek assistance for him through both magical and muggle channels.  Finally, she told him of Harry’s visit the previous day and of their current agreement.

Severus was quiet for a full minute after she finished speaking.  His calm mask was in place as he retreated into his mindscape in order to get a handle on his thoughts and emotions.   He carefully filed everything away and rose calmly back to the surface.

“He is unaware of our familial bond?,” Severus asked.  

“Of course, love.  I will never willingly put you in danger.  I will leave it to you whether you share our history with him.  I assume he will need extensive mind barriers in place before you can safely mentor him.”

“You are assuming much, Bell.  It is difficult for me to reconcile what you have told me with the spoiled, arrogant, impertinent brat I have taught for the past five years.”  

“Do you doubt my word, Sev?”  He winced at the obvious hurt in her tone.

“Of course not.  I just cannot see how I could have been completely ignorant to these circumstances; and if I have been, how can I possibly be the mentor he requires.  Our relationship thus far has been ...antagonistic at best.”

Arabella’s voice was gentle when she responded.  “Severus, Harry is the son and godson of your adolescent tormentors.  It is somewhat natural that his name and appearance might bring about some rather negative responses from you.  Is it possible that he reminds you of things from your own past that you’d rather forget?”

“I thought we’d agreed that you would refrain from psychoanalyzing me, cousin,” he responded rather coldly.  

“Enough of that.  You know that cold mask doesn’t work on me, Sev.  You are the most clever man with whom I am acquainted; and I know for a fact that you cannot abide child abuse of any kind.  So, you tell me why you have blinders on when it comes to Harry.”

Severus took another sip of his much-needed drink before responding quietly.  “Perhaps I did not wish to see anything that did not fit into my own impression of the boy.  Perhaps I couldn’t tolerate seeing the end results of my own stupidity.”

Arabella knew how rare it was for her cousin to display any vulnerability.  His very survival had depended on his cool, disaffected confidence. It was clear that he was reeling from the information she had shared, and his own demons rising to the surface.  She moved to sit next to him, placing her hand gently upon his cheek. “You did not create this situation, Severus. But you might be able to change it for the better. You know better than anything what it feels like to be helpless and attacked, to be used for someone else’s means. You are his best hope.”

“I trust you above all others Bell, but I think  - I think I need to go see Potter for myself before I am willing to further endanger myself.”

“By all means, Severus.  Go observe him tomorrow. I will continue to assist him as I can, but I will respect your informed decision.  Now come get some sleep. There’s nothing you can do until morning.”

Severus gave her a quick squeeze and nodded.  “Yes, dear,” he responded with a subdued smirk, before heading to his usual room.  He noted the neatly folded and hung clothes that had been placed rather reverently in the wardrobe (by Harry, no doubt), and prepared himself for bed.  He desperately needed to meditate, and anticipated that tomorrow, too, would be a long and draining day. 


	5. Night Terrors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for mild violence/torture

Harry quietly exited the bathroom and retired to his small bedroom. He had managed to sneak in a quick hot shower while his relatives remained downstairs. It had been a productive day, and he couldn’t help but wonder if his letter had been delivered and if so, how it had been received. He donned his clean, tattered nightshirt, did some simple stretches, and got into bed. He silently wished for a peaceful night, as his Sunday chore list tended to be quite long and his uncle rather impatient and unsympathetic regarding his frequent nightmares. Harry’s breathing slowed and he drifted off.

The large room was nothing short of magnificent, for all it’s coldness. The ancient white marble floor gleamed and the sumptuous furnishings reeked of the wealth and influence of the family to whom the manor belonged. The snake-like man smiled inwardly, thinking he could definitely get accustomed to such opulence. Oh yes, he would be making the manor his new base of operations, and if Lucius’ bitch and brat wanted to live, they would learn to serve at his pleasure.

“My Lord,” purred Bella, escorting him to the throne-like chair she had prepared for him. “Welcome to Malfoy Manor. We are honored to have you in our home.” She spared a quick smirk for her sister, who was no doubt gritting her teeth and clenching every muscle she had underneath her cool, impassive Slytherin mask. The audacity of Bellatrix playing hostess in her sister’s home was lost on no one, and it was simply delicious. “May I present my dear sister, Lady Malfoy, and my nephew, Draco.”

In one fluid motion, the beautiful woman and her striking teenage son knelt before him, their trembling visible for all their attempts to conceal it. “My Lord,” they murmured.

“Ah yes, Narcissa and young Draco. Such a pity that Lucius is ...indisposed.” He caught the merest of flinches from the boy. “Though he has long had my favor, his recent failure has left me quite disappointed. However, Lord Voldemort is most merciful. I shall partake of your most generously offered hospitality and shall allow House Malfoy to atone for Lucius’ shortcomings. Crucio!”

Despite the perverse pleasure he experienced watching the two lovely figures scream, their faces and bodies contorted with the excruciating pain of the curse, the Dark Lord released the spell relatively quickly. It would not do to damage his property - at least not yet. With Lucius imprisoned and Draco still underage, Narcissa could act as Agent for the Malfoy family. He would bring Lucius back into the fold eventually. But until then, an insurance policy was required.

“Young Draco, I shall deign to allow you a place at my side. For a price.” Draco’s eyes widened in shock, his mask barely slipping.

“It - it w-would be an honor, my Lord,” Draco whispered, his entire body trembling in terror. How may I serve you?”

The Dark Lord smirked. The boy was well-trained, that was for sure. “You shall be marked as mine, Draco, and given an assignment of extreme importance to me.” Hearing the sharp intake of breath, his glance moved to Narcissa. “Have you something to add, Lady Malfoy?

“My Lord, as you know, Draco has always been yours. It is his father’s and my dearest wish that he should stand at your side as you rule the wizarding world.”

“Indeed, yet you question my commands,” he replied icily, raising his wand slightly .

“Of course not, my Lord. Your wisdom knows no bounds. I did wonder, however, if it is your intent for Draco to complete his education?” He had to admire Narcissa’s nobility here. Her expression bore no hint of the desperation that easily leaked into her surface thoughts. He could practically smell it. She would do anything to protect the boy. And he would, in turn, do anything to exploit such an attachment.

“Certainly. I would not dream of depriving the Malfoy heir of his schooling. Draco’s placement at Hogwarts is essential to my plans. He will return to school!”

“Then, My Lord, might I suggest that your youngest servant would be in a better position to complete his assignment if he were not marked? Dumbledore and his agents are no doubt on the lookout for any with the Dark Mark. I would not put it past the old fool to expel my son.”

Voldemort’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Very well. Perhaps a chance in tactics is in order. Lady Malfoy, I shall take you instead. And what a delightful and hospitable addition you will be.” He smirked at her knowingly. For all the times that Lucius had offered Draco to his Lord’s service, not once had he ever suggested that his precious wife join the Death Eaters’ ranks.

Two blonde heads jerked up at this pronouncement. Shrewd blue eyes and comically widened silver eyes stared at him in measured astonishment. “Mother!” Draco exclaimed, turning his head to her. “That honor was to be mine!” His look was pleading, the devastation in his eyes barely evident. He was very well-trained indeed.

“No Draco. Our Lord is correct. I shall take his mark, and you shall be free to return to school without fear of reprisal or discovery. We will do as we are bid.” Narcissa stared into her son’s eyes for a full 20 seconds, giving the appearance of a silent conversation. It was of no real consequence. Regardless of their plans, the upper hand was his.

He beckoned Narcissa forwards, enjoying the sight of such a noble creature on her knees before him. When she reached his throne, she sat back on her heels, looking at him expectantly, her blue eyes unwavering. He reached out a skeletal hand, grasping the offered left arm. Sliding the sleeve of her pale blue silk robe up to her elbow with his wand, he gripped her wrist tightly, then hissed the incantation, a twisted smile on his lips. How beautifully her creamy pale skin burned with his glorious mark.

Narcissa could not hold back her scream as the Morsmordre took hold of her, burning permanently into her flesh. Determined not to collapse in front of her son, she took several shuddering deep breaths, and quickly moved back to Draco’s side.

Draco’s Malfoy mask was completely overridden by an expression of horror and sadness, his cheeks flushed with shame as he took in the broken blood vessels in his mother’s eyes and face and the slight sag of her shoulders. He bowed his head as he sought to regain control.

“Do not despair, young Draco. You are not forgotten. Shall I tell you of your mission?”

“Y-yes, My Lord. Please tell me how I may bring honor to you and to my family.”

Voldemort gave his best, most terrifying smile. “You, young lordling, shall bring about the death of Albus Dumbledore. And you shall do so before the first of next June, or your life will be forfeit.”

“Merlin No!,” whispered Narcissa, her words accompanied by a sob. “My Lord, I beg of you. He is a mere boy up against the Headmaster of Hogwarts. Surely there are better trained Death Eaters for such an essential mission.”

“He is a clever boy, up against a trusting old fool.” He turned to Draco. “You will take an oath to complete your mission. Defy me, and your mother shall pay the price for your insolence.” To prove his point, he lazily flicked his wand at Narcissa, hitting her with an asphyxiation hex followed by a painful flame-joint curse. Her screams echoed throughout the room.

“Mother! Stop, please!,” Draco shouted predictably. “I’ll do it. On my life, I vow that I will bring about the death of Albus Dumbledore no later than June first. So mote it be.” He shuddered as the oath magic surrounded him and entered his skin.

Another wand flick put an ending to Narcissa’s torture, and she collapsed to the marble floor, her joints unable to give her any support. “Mother,” Draco murmured, miserably, gathering her into his arms.

“I shall require the continued use of Malfoy Manor as my base of operations. You may retire to your private wings, and be undisturbed there. For now. As the hour is late and Lady Malfoy appears to be unavailable, Bella will show me to my rooms. I’m sure they will be to my … satisfaction.” Voldemort rose from his throne and approached his most ardent servant. “Come, my Lord, I will see to your every comfort,” she purred. As he swept from the room, he heard the Malfoy heir calling for an elf and the creature’s horrified squeak upon seeing her master and mistress heaped on the floor like rubbish. Only time would tell if the boy would succeed and usurp his father’s tenuous position. If not, Draco would be dead before he reached his majority and Lucius was certainly young enough to produce a new heir.

Harry woke with a shout, covered in sweat and tangled up in his thin sheet. He just managed to lean over the side of his cot and grab the bin that he had strategically placed there before vomiting violently. “Shit,” he swore, after emptying the contents of his stomach. Before he could even think straight, his door banged open, and a purple-faced Uncle Vernon was bearing down on him and grabbing his shoulders painfully.

“Boy, what have I told you about making noise in the middle of the night?!” Vernon roared shaking Harry viciously. “Have you no consideration for the good, decent people who house you?”

“M-sorry, Uncle Vernon,” harry replied, dazed from the nightmare, the shaking, and his blinding headache. “I was ill. Didn’t mean to wake you.”

Vernon’s face twisted in disgust as his nose caught up with the rest of him and picked up the foul odors of sweat and vomit. His eyes narrowed as they found the bin next to the bed. “You’re disgusting. Clean up this mess and get back to bed. If I hear another sound before morning, you’ll regret it boy.”

“Yes, Uncle Vernon.”

“And don’t think you’ll be getting a lie-in, boy. I want you up and working at your regular time, and you can skip breakfast, seeing as you’ve no respect for the food we provide.”

Harry knew it would be unwise to point out that the food that he had just lost hadn’t, in fact, been provided by the Dursleys, and that withholding meals was more the rule than the exception in his experience. A mumbled, “yes, Sir” saw the great walrus of a man lumbering back to his bedroom, leaving Harry in sudden silence once again.

Harry found his glasses on the rickety bedside table, unraveled himself from his sheet, and went about getting himself cleaned up. He picked up the small bin and carried it to the bathroom. He was shocked to find Dudley standing at the bathroom door, his ham-like hand holding out a wet flannel. Accepting the figurative olive branch, with a soft, confused “thanks,” he went about wiping his face, dumping his sick into the toilet, and rinsing out the bin. Harry was surprised to find Dudley still standing there as he finished brushing his teeth and patting his clammy face dry. Their eyes met in the mirror, and something akin to understanding passed between them for the first time ever.

“Sounded like a bad one,” Dudley started, in a low, quiet voice.

“They usually are,” Harry replied warily.

“What’s Dray-co? You were shouting about it.”

“Draco’s a person. A classmate of mine. We don’t get on at all, but even he doesn’t deserve what’s happening to him. He’s just one more person I might not be able to save.”

“Save? From what - those Dementy-thingies again?” Dudley shuddered visibly, remembering their run-in with the wraiths the previous summer.

“Worse. Do you really want to know?” Dudley nodded, solemnly.

“Wow. Okay. Well, the short version is that there’s this Dark Lord - a very powerful, evil guy who wants to rule all of Britain - and he wants me dead, among other things. He killed my parents trying to get to me; and he and his followers are going to keep killing people until I figure out how to stop him or I die trying.”

Dudley looked around frantically, as though expecting an ambush to occur at any moment. “B-but, you’re just a scrawny kid! What if they get in?! We don’t even have - you know- to protect ourselves.”  
  
“They can’t get to us here, Dudley. I promise. My mother died protecting me, and there’s power in that protection. This house is safe from Him as long as I share it with my mother’s blood relatives. I won’t let them hurt you.”

“I know,” Dudley replied quietly, in an almost reverent tone. “You saved me from the Dementys. Even after everything. I didn’t understand it, but I think I’m starting to. M’not much of a deep thinker, you know.” He shrugged.

Harry was a bit gobsmacked. “You’ve done more thinking than I would have given you credit for. Blimey, Dudley, I’m not complaining, mind, but what’s happened to you? I mean, we’ve lived in the same house for almost 16 years, and this is the first civil conversation we’ve ever had.”

“It was the Dementy. It was so close. I couldn’t see it, but I could feel it, and it made me feel things - awful things, like being chased and beaten, and starved, and locked in small spaces. It made me feel what it was like to be you.”

“Do you mean to tell me that you learned empathy from a soul-sucking wraith?”

“Dunno. All I know is that I couldn’t go back to the way things were - not after that.” Dudley shrugged again. Even with his newfound sense of empathy, his range of emotional expression was rather limited.

Harry sighed, his physical and emotional exhaustion catching up with him. “I’m not sure what to say, Dud, but with everything I’ve already got going on, it would be nice to have one less person to fight with. Truce?” He stuck out his hand, tentatively.

Dudley nodded. “Yeah. Truce. I’ll try to keep them off your back if I can.”

“Carefully, though, Dud. Otherwise, they’ll think I’ve done something to you.” Dudley nodded again, knowing his cousin spoke the truth. Any further conversation was thwarted by a loud snore from Vernon and Petunia’s room.

“We’d better get back to bed. I’ve got lots to do tomorrow. ‘Night, Dudley.”

“G’night Harry.”

As they went their separate ways, Harry couldn’t help but marvel about what had just transpired. Dudley’s simple acknowledgement of what Harry had experienced at the Dursley’s hands was nothing less than remarkable. It couldn’t have come about at a better time.

Sliding into bed, Harry’s thoughts drifted back to the events at Malfoy Manor. He’d never forget the look on Draco’s face as he gathered the unconscious Narcissa in his arms. His boyhood rival might be a great prat, but he was just as surely a slave to his birth and family circumstances as Harry was himself. Harry mentally added rescuing Draco and Narcissa to his list of impossible, but necessary tasks before sliding back into a deep, uninterrupted sleep.


	6. A Slytherin Surveillance

It was just before 5:00 a.m., and the sun was beginning to rise in Little Whinging. Having completed a quick, quiet morning hygiene routine, Severus silently returned to the spare room to dress and gather his supplies for the day.   His potions Mastery, passion for spellcraft, and years of spying had given him some unique tactics when it came to surveillance. The supersensory charm was a personal favorite. Unknown to anyone but himself, the charm could enhance one or more of his senses, allowing him to investigate thoroughly without necessarily needing to be in close proximity of his target.   Distance from danger had certainly saved his life on more than one occasion. The only problem with using the charm directly on his body this morning was the unpredictability of the environment. While it seemed that the manicured neighborhood prided itself on quiet and conformity, the man did not want to risk overloading his senses because of an unexpected dog bark or car horn.  He resized his shrunken surveillance kit from his overnight bag, removed his charmed sunglasses and earpiece, and refreshed the charms on them. These would work to his advantage and were easily removed if need be. He added some additional provisions to the kit, cast silencing and disillusioning charms on himself, and set off for number 4 Privet Drive. 

Severus arrived at his destination and looked for an inconspicuous place to set up for his observation.  The front of the house was unremarkable and very exposed. He did not expect his charms to fail, but Potter was a wizard and might notice a concentration of magic if it were so out in the open.  Working his way to the back of the property, he noted his escape routes and took in the general environment. If their neighborhood and home were any indication, the family was certainly not suffering from any real financial hardship.  And yet, Potter had required Arabella’s assistance to obtain presentable clothing and access to reading material. The back garden was sufficiently secluded. Even an exacting man such as Severus had to admit that it was quite lovely and well tended.  The sturdy stone wall at the back of the property was easily scalable, and within minutes, the spy had set up his small base of operations.

Fully expecting to wait at least an hour for the inhabitants to start their day, Severus took out his self-refilling insulated flask of tea and settled his earpiece into his ear.   He was surprised to hear that someone was already awake and moving quietly about the house. He slipped on his charmed glasses, and waited for his vision to adjust as the entire back wall of the house disappeared, giving him a view of every room.  He scanned for movement and spotted Potter emerging from the laundry room, where he had started a load of the washing. A quick glance at the other rooms told him that he rest of the family remained asleep. Interesting. Severus zoomed in on the boy, and was startled by the dark circles under Potter’s green eyes and the extra gaunt look of his face and frame.  The boy looked terrible - as though he had been neither eating nor sleeping. Yet, he continued his tasks with a neutral expression and the calm, almost graceful motions of someone who had completed then countless times in the past.

For the next three hours, Severus watched as Potter washed, dried, and folded numerous loads of laundry, tidied a tiny, spartan bedroom, set three places at the kitchen table, got supplies ready for breakfast, dusted the entire first floor, and scrubbed the downstairs powder room.  The boy never stopped to eat, drink, or rest. This was not the surly, thoughtless teenager with whom Severus was familiar. In contrast, Potter appeared to be weary and contemplative, as though he was attempting to solve a great puzzle.

Finally, at half past 8:00, there were stirrings from the other inhabitants of the house, and Potter returned to the kitchen.  He timed the tea perfectly to Petunia’s entry, serving it to her with a quiet “good morning, Aunt Petunia.” All the boy received in return was a glare and a pinched expression that softened only slightly after the first sip of tea was sampled and judged to be satisfactory.

Although Petunia had certainly aged since Severus had last seen her, he easily recognized her horse-like features and haughty demeanor.  She had been a jealous and snobbish child, and he doubted he’d find anything more redeeming about her adult persona. Without ever glancing in the boy’s direction, she addressed him in a crisp, cold voice.

“Get to work on breakfast.  Your Uncle will be downstairs shortly and should not be kept waiting.    I will see to Dudders’ morning meal after he’s had a bit of a lie-in, poor boy.”  She shot the boy a look of pure loathing.

“Yes, Aunt,”  the boy replied, as he began to prepare a full English breakfast, a platter of fruit, and a tray of toast.  

A large oaf of a man loudly entered the room just as Potter was placing the food on the table.  His eyes narrowed at the platter. “This better be cooked to perfection, boy! I’ll not tolerate any waste in this house.”

“Yes, Uncle Vernon,” said Potter in a quiet monotone, as he served the bloviating walrus his tea.

The teen froze as his red-faced uncle grabbed his right forearm in a vice-grip.  His face remained placid, while his left hand clenched tightly. Severus observed the deliberate slow breaths the boy took.  “Don’t you take that disrespectful tone with me, you little freak. You’re lucky to live here, seeing as how none of your lot will have you.   It’s bad enough that we’re burdened with your unnaturalness and your caterwauling at all hours of the night. Now get outside and see to your chores.  I don’t want to lay eyes on you until lunchtime.” He released Potter’s arm after one last cruel squeeze.

“The breakfast dishes will be waiting for you when you return,” added Petunia, as the boy quickly left the kitchen.

Severus processed what he had seen so far: a too-thin, haggard looking teenager who woke at dawn to keep house and cook a meal he was clearly not welcome to join; blood relations who were verbally abusive at best.  And what was that comment about caterwauling? Clearly something had happened last night - perhaps a vision? Severus sighed. The continued visions would be a problem.

As Potter surveyed the back garden and began to gather his supplies, his hidden Professor observed him more closely.  The boy’s right forearm was sporting a rapidly forming handprint bruise from the episode in the kitchen, but he did not appear to be overly concerned by it - as though such occurrences were to be expected.  It was as Arabella had described - the famous, spoiled saviour of the wizarding world was, in fact, an abused and neglected child. So much for the safe haven provided by blood wards and the old magic of a mother’s love.  Lily Evans Potter would be appalled and incensed by the treatment of her only son.

Although he could have ended his observation right then and there, Severus opted to remain while his student weeded, pruned, and watered the beautiful back garden.  The boy’s movements were somewhat mesmerizing, much akin to watching him fly. He seemed oddly at peace in this haven he had been forced to create. At long last, Potter cleaned up any wayward cuttings, carefully rinsed the dirt from himself and took a long, satisfying drink from the garden hose.  

Severus had seen enough.  His decision made, he silently gathered his bag and departed through the neighbor’s yard.  He had arrangements to make, and two masters to misdirect. It was going to be a very busy summer.


	7. Her Majesty's Employment Program for Wayward Youth

It had thus far been a blessedly quiet Sunday afternoon at the Dursley house.  Harry had completed his long list of morning chores and made a simple lunch of sandwiches and a garden salad.  He was even allowed to eat some of it after his relatives had had their fill. After scrubbing the kitchen, he made himself scarce while Petunia and Dudley went out to do some shopping.  Vernon had made himself comfortable in front of the telly and nodded off, allowing Harry to take a decent shower without anyone banging on the door or hollering about his use of hot water and soap.  (The teen had never understood how his aunt and uncle expected him to do endless amounts of manual labor without requiring basics like soap and water afterwards). As Petunia and Dudley had, upon their return, joined Vernon in the family room, Harry remained upstairs, reading a discarded novel of Dudley’s and giving his neglected owl some necessary attention.  He had considered a visit to Arabella, but decided to wait until at least Monday, when Uncle Vernon would be at work. 

Harry did not hear the obviously expensive, but otherwise nondescript sedan pull up to the house, nor did he see the well-dressed man emerge from the vehicle, briefcase in hand, and start up the front walk.  Thus he was quite surprised by the knock at the door, and crept to the top of the stairs to find out what was happening.

An irritable Vernon huffed to the front door while a pinch-faced Petunia peeked out the curtains, muttering about uninvited visitors and the general untowardness of calling on a Sunday.  Dudley was uncharacteristically curious, and followed his father in order to get a better view as the door was opened. There stood a tall man in what appeared to be an expensive, well-cut suit.  His wavy auburn hair was neatly styled, and his dark cobalt eyes his only striking feature. “Good afternoon,” the stranger said. My apologies for disturbing you on a Sunday.”

“Now see here.  We’re not interested in anything you’re selling.”

Ignoring Vernon’s rudeness, the man continued, his smooth, melodious voice carrying throughout the house despite his reasonable volume.

“Good Sir, I am not a salesman.  In fact, I am here on official Crown business.”

“Crown business?  What kind of Crown business operates on a Sunday afternoon?  I hardly think you’ve got her Majesty stashed away in your fancy car.”  Vernon snickered at his own poor attempt at humor. The stranger remained perfectly calm.

“Allow me to introduce myself.  I am Professor Steven Prince, owner and operator of Prince Chemical Laboratories and the current coordinator of Her Majesty’s Employment Program for Wayward Youth.  I am here to speak a young man called Harry Potter.”

It was impossible to miss Vernon’s curled lip upon hearing the name of his nephew.  He was about to tell the stranger that he had never heard of such a person and close the door, when Dudley hollered, “Potter, there’s a fancy professor here for you!”    

Harry could not see the man from the top of the stairs, but the voice was unmistakable.  His letter had been received. He ran down the stairs quickly, stopping short at the sight of his amused/anxious cousin, irate uncle and a surprisingly attractive man with the voice of Severus Snape all crammed in the small doorway.  “I am Harry Potter. I understand you are looking for me, Sir?”

Vernon began to splutter, his face going quickly from red to purple. “You have no business here.  The boy is not allowed visitors!”

“I see,” replied the stranger, his voice taking on a hint of danger.  “However, as I previously stated, this is official Crown business, and it is imperative that I at least speak to every young person on my list.  It would certainly be more cordial for me to do so inside of your home. However, I am perfectly able to explain my purpose from my position on the front walk.  The neighbors seem to be most interested in my arrival.”

He could not have decided upon a more perfect thing to say.  One mention of the neighbors had Petunia out in the hallway, her manners remembered. “Vernon, love”, she said in a strained voice. “Please invite our visitor in for tea.”  

The strange man smiled faintly at her.  “I would be most pleased to join you for a cup of tea, Madam.”  He caught Harry’s eye. “May I come in and speak with you, Mr. Potter?”  

Harry felt a brush of magic that he had never before experienced, as the house’s blood wards signalled him of the entry request.  “Yes, Sir, please come in.” There was another warm brush of magic, and the threshold was crossed.

Harry caught the small intake of breath as Dudley realized that something significant was happening.  Harry managed to catch his eye, give a faint smile and nod in his direction. He could only hope that his thick cousin received the nonverbal message that everything was okay and that this man was safe.    

Aunt Petunia led the way to the sitting room and gestured for the Professor to sit on one of her pristine sofas.   A sharp glance at Harry had him fetching a tea tray from the kitchen, which he delivered to the awkwardly silent room a few minutes later.  After serving their unexpected guest, Harry served his family with practiced ease. A pointed look from the Professor had him hastily serving himself as well, hoping the Dursleys would err on the side of appearing to be “normal.”  It was a bizarre setup, to be sure.

“You wanted to speak with me, Sir?”  He ignored Vernon’s outraged expression and Petunia’s stiff posture.

“Yes.  Well. I am here representing a program that is near and dear to the heart of our Queen.  The employment program provides full-time summer internship opportunities to young orphans and foster children as well as youth who are in need of more structure and guidance towards being productive members of society.  Your name came up on my roster just this past week, otherwise I would have been here sooner. Again, I do apologize for arriving unannounced on a Sunday.”

Petunia sniffed.  “I can’t imagine how the boy ended up on your roster.  He’s hardly internship material. We do our best, but my late sister and her spouse were hardly ideal role models.  I’m sure you understand.” It was a wonder that Harry’s clenched grip did not shatter the delicate teacup he was holding.  

“On the contrary, Madam.  Our research shows that he is just the type of boy we are looking for.  His sponsor described him as a quiet boy who keeps to himself and is not opposed to chores.”

“Sponsor?!,” piped up Vernon.  “What sponsor?”

“A Mrs. A. Figg submitted his name.  A very kind woman. I believe she is a neighbor of yours?  Used to be a social worker, you know. She’s been sending us excellent candidates for years.”

Aunt Petunia stiffened at the mention of Mrs. Figg’s previous occupation.  “I’m afraid she has wasted your time in this case. I’ll not have the boy shaming us in front of the whole neighborhood.  Take him off of your list.” She practically hissed at the man.

The Professor was completely unfazed.  “Truly? What a pity. I’m afraid that will require quite a bit of paperwork - a form for her Majesty’s charity commission, a letter of explanation to social services, and of course, I’ll have to let his sponsor know….”  He shook his head sadly, showing not a hint of his vast amusement at the Dursley’s obvious discomfort.

“Would he have to go every day?”  All eyes turned to Dudley in shock.  “What? He’s he’s here all the time. Hardly a holiday if I’m stuck in the house with him all day, innit?”  

“Oh, my poor Diddikins!  You don’t have to stay in the house, darling.  We’ll make sure he’s not bothering you.”

“But mum,” Dudley whined.  “We hardly go anywhere since _ he  _ can’t be trusted to be left home alone.  It’s not fair. Why not let him take the stupid job?  Let them keep him busy all day. Bet they work them extra hard.”    

Harry could have cheered.  While a bit over the top, Dudley’s dramatic performance had an instantaneous effect.

“How soon can you take him?” asked Vernon.  

“This year’s program is set to begin tomorrow.  It’s a day program, 10 work hours per day, 6 days per week; and employees are assessed and placed in the setting that is most appropriate to their needs.  Am I correct in assuming that Mr. Potter would need assistance with transportation?”

“Too right.  I certainly don’t have time to drive him anywhere.  If you want him, that’ll be on you. And I’ll not have any wayward youth riff-raff coming to the house to get him, either!”

“I’m sure we can arrange for Mr. Potter’s ride to pick him up and drop him off elsewhere.  Are there any other questions? No? Well, in that case, I need Mr. and Mrs. Dursley to sign the employment contract.”  He produced a folder from his briefcase and handed it to Harry’s guardians, along with a pen.

Vernon snatched the contract up and skimmed it quickly.  “Wait a minute - what’s this section here about diverting employee stipends from maintenance funds?”  He glared at the refined man.

“Ah. Yes.  The program is, of course, an unpaid internship.  However, given the significant time commitment involved, we do offer a weekly stipend to employees.  In cases such as your own, in which the family receives monthly support far above the standard, we ask that the stipend of 200 pounds per week be diverted from those funds, rather than our operational costs.  If that is a problem, it can certainly be waived from the contract.”

Harry was confused and a quick look at his Uncle confirmed that he was on the verge of an explosion.

“I’m sorry sir, but I’m afraid that there’s been a mistake.  My Aunt and Uncle do not receive funds for me. They were sort of forced to take me after my parents died.”

“On the contrary Mr. Potter, my records are correct, I assure you.”  He pulled out another document from his briefcase. “Mr. and Mrs. Dursley receive monthly checks from the estate of Lily and James Potter.  They are signed by a Mr. Brian Wulfric.” 

Harry’s head snapped up, first at his spluttering Uncle and then at his Aunt, who quickly sniffed and  looked away. Dudley looked completely dumbfounded. The young man locked eyes with the Professor as he began to shake with shock and rage.  Just as he felt his magic rise up and threaten to burst out of him, a familiar snarky voice sounded in his head.  “ _ Pull yourself together, Potter! Deep breaths, in through the nose and out through the mouth.  Information is power. Remember that.” _

Harry just barely managed to get himself in control.  “I stand corrected,” he said in a deadly quiet voice.  It’s good to know that my family has been so highly compensated for the  _ care  _ they have given me.”  The Professor gave him an approving nod.

“The contract, Mr. Dursley?”  With clenched fists, Vernon signed the paper and rudely shoved it back at the Professor.”

“Very well.  I believe our business here is complete.  I thank you for the tea. If you can spare Mr. Potter for the next hour or so, I’d like him to come with me for a brief orientation and to set up his transportation.  Mr. Potter?”

The Dursleys were too angry or stunned to argue, and Harry closely followed the Professor back to the sedan and entered the car.  

“Sir, I ...”

“Not a word yet, Potter.  Every minute that your unblocked mind is aware of my identity puts both of our lives in further danger.  We need to get to Arabella’s and set up mental shields  **now** .  Everything else can wait.”

Harry nodded in understanding and remained obediently silent for the brief ride to Mrs. Figg’s house. Immediately upon their arrival, they were ushered into the sitting room.

“Potter, will you grant me free access to your mind?”  Harry nodded. “I need you to say it, Potter. As you would an oath.”

“I Harry James Potter consent to give mental access to Professor Severus Snape aka Professor Steven Prince for the purpose of keeping us both safe and shielding my mind.”

“That will do.  This is going to feel strange, but should not cause you any pain.  Do not attempt to block or fight me.” He waited for Harry to nod and fully meet his gaze.  

“ _ Legilimens _ ”  


	8. Eternal Chaos of a Wild Mind

Potter stayed true to his word and offered no resistance to Severus’ intrusion into his mind.  At the exact moment of entry, the Legilimens cast a mind shield tightly around himself like a second skin.  He gently flexed the shield, testing its strength and elasticity. Finally satisfied, he opened his senses up to his surroundings and allowed his form to manifest itself.  Accustomed as Severus was to his own artfully crafted and meticulously organized mindscape, he found the wild, beautiful landscape of Potter’s mind both breathtaking and overwhelming.  It was akin to being inside the aurora borealis. Swirls of multicolored light, snippets of sound, and flashes of pictures surrounded him, all of it pulsing with an underlying sense of power.  The boy hadn’t been lying when he insisted he’d been trying during occlumency lessons. A mind such as this one could not simply be emptied or cleared. It needed to be tamed. Severus had never seen anything quite like it.  

Slowly, carefully, he extended his shield out from himself, creating a growing bubble.  As it expanded, he used his senses to scan for any weaknesses, traces of malevolent magic, or a consciousness that was not Potter’s.  Severus knew there had to be a point of connection to the Dark Lord’s mind. The trick was locating it and sealing it without injuring Potter or alerting _Him_ .   He also needed to place a solid mental barrier around the very edges of the boy’s mind, taking care to ensure Potter’s maximum access to his own thoughts, feelings and memories.  This would be intricate, draining work. The bubble shield had stretched for quite a distance when Severus felt it. It was definitely not another consciousness, thank Merlin, but something less well-defined, and definitely _wrong_.  

Severus froze his bubble shield in place and approached the disturbance.  It was striking. There, in the seemingly endless expanse of glorious, bright, beautiful color, was a defined patch of stark darkness - something that did not belong.  It was clearly alien, not only to Potter’s mindscape but to everything Severus knew about mind magic. He employed all of his senses and recoiled instantly. This was most definitely the door he had been looking for, and it had the feel of _soul_ magic, a craft that Potter was most definitely too young and inexperienced to dally in on his own. The Master Legilimens considered his options.  The portal was close enough to the outskirts of the mind that he could keep it outside of the barrier altogether by folding the bubble around it. Potter might get cut off from a few memories in the process, but it would be a small price to pay for the safety of separating this menace from the rest of his mindscape. The downside, of course, would be that Potter would not be able to sense anything or anyone attempting to enter the portal; and if the Dark Lord did reach out, he’d know instantly that Potter had isolated the connection and blocked it.  The alternative option - encapsulating the darkness within the shielded mindscape - would require more magic, and could leave the mind vulnerable _if_ the capsule’s barrier was breached.  However, it would also allow for some subterfuge and the ability to sense any attacks immediately.  He decided on the second option, with the knowledge that he could always restructure if needed. He required more information about how frequently the connection was being used and if the Dark Lord was actively trying to reach Potter.  

Severus assessed his energy level.  He definitely had enough magical reserves to do the initial encapsulation and a light full-mind shield.  A more powerful permanent barrier might have to wait a day or two, but given the boy’s current separation from the wizarding world, he deemed it an acceptable risk.  Severus got as close to the portal as possible without touching it, and encapsulated it in a one-way illusion of the wild, bright mindscape. He then cast what he called his diamond shield around it.  The shield was static, impenetrable, and crystal clear. Around the glittering barrier, he fashioned a simple metal hut. It was a completely smooth and seamless circular building with a domed roof. The final touch was a small, covered porthole window.  Sufficiently convinced that the portal was secure, Severus once again expanded his bubble shield until he could go no further. He froze the barrier in place and turned it to stone, allowing himself only a moment’s amusement for the fact that Potter now had, quite literally, rocks for brains.  

“Potter!,” he called.

“Sir?!” the entire mindscape echoed in response.

“I want you to imagine yourself standing next to me, inside your mind.  Do it now.” Immediately, a manifestation of the teen appeared next to Severus.  The boy looked around in pure amazement.

“Are we really inside my mind?  How is this possible?”

“Magic, Potter.” (Apparently, even mental projections of Severus Snape were snarky).  Severus gestured to the portal hut in front of them. “I have found and isolated your connection to the Dark Lord.  You may view it through the window. Harry approached the porthold, peered in, and gasped.

“Will the sparkling shield and this building truly keep him out?”

“That’s the idea.  There should be no more unconscious open connection between the two of you.  However, you will still feel any active attempts to breach the barrier, and you may be able to sense mind leaks on the Dark Lord’s end.”

“How will I feel them?”

“I anticipate that it will be uncomfortable, but not painful, and the exact sensation will be determined by you.  Imagine an enemy knocking on a door inside your mind. How would that feel?”

“Ugh, um, tingly, tense, and slightly nauseating, I suppose.”

“Good.  Should you encounter this signal, you will inform me as soon as possible and you may seek more information by looking through the porthole window.  Under absolutely NO circumstances are you to attempt to take down the structure or the shield to this portal. Doing so will cause _both of us_ physical and mental harm.  Do you understand, Potter?”

“Yes, Sir.”  

Severus gestured for Potter to follow him to the outer perimeter.  “Now, I’ve also placed this additional barrier around your entire mindscape.  It is currently warded to allow me entry, but you will be protected from any low-level Legilimens or other mind controlling magic.  I will replace it with a stronger shield sometime in the next few days, and you WILL learn to create and maintain your own barrier, as soon as possible.  This is not negotiable.”

“Sir, if is possible to create a powerful mind shield for someone else, why didn’t Dumbledore do this last year - especially when he thought Vold, I mean, _He_ was trying to possess me?”

“Two reasons.  First, he doesn’t know how.  I created the mind shield spell and though I have used it to protect others, I have not taught it to anyone else.”  Harry bristled slightly at the idea of keeping such a useful protective spell to oneself, but remained silent. “Second, the spell requires a large burst of magic to work and then continuously draws magic from either the caster or host.  Even if the Headmaster had been aware of and skilled at reproducing the spell, I don’t believe he would have used it. He would have considered the draw on his magic too high a risk.”

Harry was incredulous.  “The shields will continue to pull on your magic until I am able to create and maintain them on my own?”

“That is correct.”

“But Sir,  won’t that put you at risk?  What if you are attacked and need all of your magic?  Could you link the spell so it pulls from my magic instead?  I don’t want to be responsible for making you vulnerable!”

“Calm yourself, Potter!  It is not ideal, but is a necessary precaution for now.  We cannot take the risk of you casting outside of school, and I am not convinced that you are trained and disciplined enough to maintain such a complex spell unconsciously.  Perhaps this will serve as ample motivation for you to master occlumency.”

Harry quickly tamped down his feelings of guilt, anger, and inadequacy.  “It will, Sir. Thank you for the protection.”

“It is in my best interest as well.”

“I realize that, but I appreciate it anyway, Sir.”

Severus inclined his head in acknowledgement.  He would never demonstrate it, but he was pleasantly surprised by the boy’s response.  “I’m finished here, for now. We will continue our conversation back in the tangible world.  In order to exit your mindscape, you need only imagine yourself back in Arabella’s sitting room.  Should you wish to return here, use a focal point and visualize yourself relative to that setting.  The portal building should be a sufficient landmark for the time being. However, I caution you not to linger in your mindscape until you have a better understanding of how it works and more control over the experience.  I shall exit first. If you have not returned within one minute, I will guide you through the process.” Harry watched as Severus placed his palms on the stone perimeter, the action causing them to take on a golden glow.  A rectangular doorway promptly formed, allowing the man to walk through, and then immediately reforming into solid wall. Harry stared at the spot for a few seconds, then imagined himself back on Arabella’s sofa.

Green eyes opened to the cool stare of Severus Snape’s obsidian orbs.  The glamour no longer necessary, he had returned to his natural state.  The moment was broken by the sound of a tray setting down on the coffee table.  Arabella handed them each a small bar of Honeydukes’ bittersweet chocolate and placed a small vial in front of Severus.  He quickly broke the seal and swallowed down the dose of his own magic restorative, giving his cousin a grateful nod. 

“I’ve a  light supper ready as well,” said the squib, as the two wizards nibbled on their chocolate.  “Why don’t we sit down in the kitchen and make a plan for tomorrow. I imagine we’ll have to send Harry back home soon.”

The three sat down to a healthy meal of broiled salmon with rice and a vegetable medley.  Harry savored every bite, and thanked Arabella profusely for her thoughtfulness. It went unspoken that Harry’s relatives were likely too irate to allow him a proper meal upon his return home.  He fully anticipated being asked to cook supper and then sent to his room without a scrap.

Harry thanked the Professor for responding to his letter, and was relieved at the confirmation that only the three of them were aware of its contents.  Although he was loathe to further burden Snape, he knew better than to withhold important information. He waited until their meal was complete.

“Mrs Figg, I have some rather sensitive information to report to Professor Snape.  Would it be possible to speak with him alone for a few minutes?”

Arabella smiled at him fondly.  “It’s Arabella, dear, or I quite enjoyed being called Granny Bell.”  She ignored Severus’ raised eyebrow. “For your reference, my mind is well protected - I learned from the best.  However, you may certainly request a private conversation with Severus. I’d like you to feel comfortable using my home as a sanctuary.  It is my pleasure to offer you whatever comfort and safety I can provide.” She patted him gently on the shoulder, and exited the room.

At her departure, Severus cast a privacy charm.  As much as he trusted Arabella, experience had taught him to value discretion.   “Professor, you should know that I had a vision last night - a bad one - and I’m not sure what to do about it.”    

Severus knew that it was unwise to engage in additional mind magic without adequate rest, but the expression on Potter’s face had him certain that he would need to explore the vision firsthand.  “Would you be willing to show me?,” he asked. At the boy’s nod, he instructed. “Focus on the memory, and imagine pulling it to the front of your mind. It will take less energy for me to read it that way.”  

A few minutes later, a pale, grim-faced Severus pulled out of the memory.  He had been witness to both the horrific scene at Malfoy Manor and Potter’s reaction to it.  “This is indeed grave news, but I do not believe it will alter our immediate plans.”

“What about Dumbledore?  Do I have to tell him? I don’t want to make things worse for Malfoy, but this is a death threat.”

Severus paused to think.  “Are you sincere in your wish to find a way to help them?”

“Yes, Sir.  I mean, I think he’s a spoiled, selfish prat and we’ve never gotten along, but I can’t really look at him with hatred after seeing that, you know?”

“As Professor Dumbledore is unlikely to encounter the Malfoy family during his summer holiday, I believe that we can save this information for a later date when it will be more advantageous to disclose it.  We have much to accomplish and very little time in which to do it. I will think on this further.”

Harry nodded.  “Okay.”

Cancelling the privacy spell, Severus gestured for Harry to follow him to Arabella’s spare room.  He opened the nightstand drawer and pulled out a keychain with a small green-haired troll figurine and a single key on it.  “Our training will begin tomorrow and will last as long as we are both available and able to continue. You are to arrive here at seven a.m. and will take your breakfast with Arabella.  At precisely eight a.m., you will take hold of this squibport, and it will take you to our training facility. Keep in mind that the port automatically leaves and returns to the house. If you miss it, you will miss your training for the day, and you risk my extreme displeasure at having my time wasted.  Understood?”

“Yes Sir.  Um, Sir? Aren’t portkeys monitored by the Ministry?  Won’t they realize that an underage wizard is travelling alone?”  Harry looked up as Arabella entered the room, poised to answer his question.   

“Portkeys are regulated, though I’ve certainly seen my share of illegal oes.  This, however, is a squibport. Once applied for and approved by the Ministry, they are not heavily monitored - particularly if they have specific destinations that are used in a consistent manner.  Imagine someone using one every day to get to a workplace or to move between the muggle world and the wizarding world. Us poor incompetent squibs can’t apparate or fly, so the Ministry took pity on us and made us our own method of travel.”  Harry was learning to really like Arabella’s smirk.

“So, it’s the wizarding version of a disabled sticker for your car?”

“Something like that.  

“Won’t the Ministry notice your supposed increased travel?  I don’t want you in trouble or in danger because of me.”

“Ah, that is the beauty of this particular squibport.  It has set destinations and departure times, and has been going back and forth between them for the past 10 years.  There will be no discernible difference as far as the Ministry is concerned, and despite its name, it is perfectly functional for wizards as well as squibs.”

“That’s brilliant.  I hope I live to see the day the wizarding world realizes how much they’ve underestimated squibs, Arabella.  I really do.” She winked at him in response.

It was getting late, and Severus needed to rest.  He fully anticipated displeased responses to the owls he had sent his Masters about his unavailability for the next few weeks, and needed to be completely focused in order to keep them both appeased and unaware of his true movements.  

“We will discuss additional details tomorrow after your port arrives,” Severus said as he removed an old set of robes from the wardrobe.  With a few flicks of his wand, he transfigured them into a muggle uniform of sorts, with the dark blue shirt bearing a logo for Prince Chemical  Laboratories. “Wear these tomorrow. We shall secure additional supplies once we have discussed our terms.”

Harry accepted his new uniform, and placed it in a small bag provided by Arabella.  He noticed that she had added a box of energy bars to the package. “Thank you for everything,” he said, giving the woman a hug.  “My pleasure,” she replied.

Harry politely wished them both a good evening, and departed.  Although he knew he’d have to face the music at the Dursley’s, Harry felt more hopeful and centered than he had in a long time.


	9. The Warehouse

Anticipating a screaming match when he returned to Privet Drive, Harry was pleasantly surprised to find that Vernon and Petunia were not at home.  Dudley had apparently convinced his parents to go out for supper and had made plans to visit with his friend Piers. He had graciously waited for Harry to return, knowing that his cousin was never allowed a key.  Harry was still not accustomed to their truce, but had appreciated the gesture, and told him so. An embarrassed Dudley had then confessed that he had never known about the funds the family received for Harry’s “care.”  “Neither did I,” Harry had replied, in a hard voice, and again an understanding seemed pass between the two boys with no more words needed.

 

Harry woke early on Monday morning, having slept better than he had in years.  As he quickly and quietly dressed for the day, he was bubbling with nervous energy.  His interactions with Sn - _Professor Prince_ \- had been cordial and almost pleasant thus far, but they had not yet been alone.  He dearly hoped that their alliance would hold up in the light of a new day and the prospect of spending a significant amount of time together.   He knew he would do everything in his power to keep his temper in check and appreciate this opportunity. His life depended on it.

Although he was still seething about the previous day’s financial revelations, he was a creature of habit, and thought that maintaining a certain amount of status quo would be to his own benefit - at least for now.  He set the table for breakfast and penned a brief note for Petunia that stated his work hours and his anticipated return time. It was incredibly freeing to have a justifiable reason to leave the house.

Arabella greeted him warmly at 7:00, and showed him where she kept her spare key in the event that he needed it.  They shared a hearty breakfast and pleasant conversation, while each of her kneazles came to give their guest a brief greeting.   “Do as he says, and you’ll do fine, Harry,” she advised, as they cleared and washed the dishes. “Remember, he’s a good man, and his bark is much worse than his bite.”  

“I won’t let either of you down,” he said as he went to the spare room to pack a change of clothes and grab the squibort.  

 

********************************************

Severus had departed for the Warehouse before dawn, and spent the morning making final preparations.    The refurbished industrial building was one of his best kept secrets, and while he was loathe to share it with Potter of all people, he knew it was the ideal location for this training endeavor.  Remote and well-protected, the three-story Warehouse contained a garage, a state of the art laboratory and storage facility, a luxury flat, and a full gym and training room. The walled-in courtyard off of the main floor hosted a greenhouse and a magically-maintained garden, and the surrounding forest provided extra cover. The property’s combination of muggle technology and magical security measures made it a unique safehouse and Severus’ preferred holiday retreat. He had missed the place dearly since the Dark Lord’s return.

Just before 8:00, the Professor entered the small reception room to which the squibport was keyed.  He cast his glamour and a containment ward and prepared for Potter’s arrival and first lesson. A minute later the boy materialized and just barely managed to remain on his feet.  He grimaced, his dislike of this mode of transport apparent. “Oh! Good morning, Professor.” He frowned as he realized that the glamoured man’s wand was trained on him.

“First lesson.  You must be completely sure of to whom you are speaking and the security of your location before you disclose any information.  The smallest indiscretion can be your downfall. How can I be sure that you are who you appear to be?”

Harry straightened and locked his eyes on his instructor.  “You could ask me a question that only I would have the answer to.  Or, we could set a code word. We probably should have done that yesterday, though.  If you were truly suspicious about my authenticity, you could use mind magic or a potion, but those methods are a bit invasive and time consuming.  Not to mention possibly illegal.”

“Very well.  I shall ask you a question.  You wrote me a letter a few days ago and signed it using a descriptive phrase, rather than a name.  What were the initials of that phrase?”

“A.R.C.”

The Professor nodded, lowered his wand, and removed the containment ward. He raised an eyebrow when he saw that Potter remained in a somewhat defensive stance.

“And how do I knew that you are who you appear to be?  Sir.” Severus managed to keep his lips from twitching at the hastily tacked on honorific.  

“A good point.  I await your question.”

Harry was sure his discomfort was obvious.  “I _really_ hate bringing this up, but it’s the only thing I can think of that only you and I would know the answer to. Last year, my er, ‘remedial potions’ lessons were abruptly discontinued. Why?”

The Professor stared at him for a moment, his expression impassive.  “You invaded my privacy by viewing a memory I had placed in a pensieve.  I found myself unwilling to offer you individual lessons as a result.” He dropped the glamour for added effect.

Harry nodded, looking shamefaced.  “Yes. I can certainly understand why, and I really am sorry for it, Sir.”

“I believe that you are, Mr. Potter.  And I appreciate that you opted not to ask about any specific details from that memory, though it would have been a more sure validation of my identity.”

“I take no pleasure from other people’s pain, Sir. “

“You surprise me, Potter.  I am finding that you are not quite who I thought you were.  Now, if you’ll follow me, we’ll discuss terms and get started.”

Harry nodded eagerly and followed him out of the small room and down the hallway to a simple, but elegant, office.    He did a small double-take at the name plaque next to the doorway: _Dr. Steven A. Prince,  Laboratory Director_.  He had foolishly assumed that the glamour and the laboratory were part of a ruse to fool his thick relatives, but this place was far from a hastily conjured fabrication.

“Problem, Mr. Potter?”

Harry shook himself lightly.  “No, Sir,” he said in a soft voice, as he took in the inviting decor of the room.  “I think, well, you’re not at all who I thought you were, either.”

“Indeed.”  He gestured for Harry to be seated at one of the soft brown leather chairs, and went around to the other side of the desk to gracefully seat himself.   “I believe it would be prudent to discuss the terms of this arrangement prior to commencing your training.” Harry simply nodded for him to go on. “Should you choose to move forward with the training you have requested, my expectation from you will be unwavering respect, honesty, and obedience in all aspects of this endeavor.  I shall show no tolerance for arrogance, ego, or dissembling. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“We shall see.  I have planned an intensive course of study that will focus on four primary areas:  emotional health and regulation, mindfulness and mental control, physical strength and health, and breadth of knowledge.  You will have lessons and assignments to complete in each of these areas, and you will do so without argument. It is my hope that you will understand the value and application of your lessons once you have completed them.  However, should you continue to question why you have been set a certain task, you may speak to me about it after it’s completion. You will arrive for training ready to work and as well-rested as possible. You will not miss meals (his eyes flashed dangerously).  Arabella and I will see that you don’t, regardless of your living situation.”

“I understand, Sir. That all sounds reasonable.”

“Arabella tells me that you have selected a muggle alias.  She insists that she will have your identity sorted before the end of the week, at which point, we will take care of some necessary business.  I will be using my muggle identify and glamour unless we are alone or with Arabella. However, we will have to be more subtle and creative in disguising you.  While we are in the muggle world, you are to refer to me, at all times, as Professor Prince or Sir. If you find this difficult, Potter, you will inform me and I shall cast a tongue-tie jinx on you.”

Harry nodded again.  “Sir?” He waited until the older man nodded for him to speak, before continuing in a tentative voice.  “Er, do you think it would be possible for you to call me by my muggle alias as well while we train? Or at least call me Harry?”  He did not elaborate, hoping that the highly intelligent man before him would understand his reasoning.

Severus’ dark eyes bore into Harry as he considered the request.  Despite his careful emotional control, he acknowledged to himself that the Potter name (and the Black name, for that matter) was a trigger for him, and challenged his carefully composed disposition.  During the past 24 hours, he had wondered if his reaction to _this_ Potter would have been so powerful and immediate if he hadn’t so resembled his sire.              

“I had intended to do so in the presence of your muggle instructors and in public.  However, there is _merit_ to using your alias even when we are alone.”  There, that was the closest he would get to admitting out loud what he and the boy already knew.  

“Thank you, Sir.  I have chosen the name Evan Lilson.  I’ll leave it to you how you’d like to address me.”

“Mr. Lilson?  An interesting choice”  He raised an elegant eyebrow as a silent request for an explanation.  

Harry felt the faint flush on his cheeks and absently rain his hand through his already messy hair.  “Hardly anyone talks about my mother. I don’t remember her. My aunt hated her, my godfather was too focused on my dad, and the rest of the Wizarding world is so fixated on the whole hero worship racket, that they forget she was a person.  A person who loved me, and died to protect me. I figured that if I was finally able to claim an identity for myself, even a fake one, I wanted one that would remind me of where and who I come from. I’m not proud of too many things, but I am proud to be Lily’s son.”

‘ _As you should be_ ,’ thought Severus, though he nodded and remained silent.

“I know it’s not as clever as choosing a name that has no real significance to ‘Harry Potter,’ but it appeals to me to use something meaningful that most people are too ignorant to consider.”

“That’s almost Slytherin, Pot - _Lilson_.”

Harry grinned.  “Thank you, Sir.”  

“As it is unclear how much time we will have here, we will use the facilities as efficiently as possible.  For the next several weeks, you will have lessons with muggle instructors in the morning, and you will spend your afternoons working with me and completing your assignments.”  Harry’s eyes went wide at the mention of muggles. “Do you have a question?”

“Yes, Sir.  Muggles?”

“Muggles who have been personally vetted by me and who are experts in the skills they will be teaching.  As this arrangement is to be kept secret from both sides in a **_war_ ** and you are unable to practice magic until you return to school, I should think muggles would be the obvious choice.”   His voice was sharper than it had been, but Harry felt he deserved it.

“Of course, Sir.  That makes sense. I wasn’t really thinking”

“Lilson.  If I teach you anything this summer, it will be to engage your brain.”

“I hope so, Sir.  Perhaps you will find that I am not quite the complete dunderhead you believe me to be.”

“Merlin help us if you are,” the older man muttered.  “Now, he said in his silkiest voice, with a bit of a smirk, we have only to discuss the matter of _payment_.”  

Harry felt an icy weight in his chest, as he tried to take a deep breath.  He had made his offer in good faith, and he would stick to it. “I made you an offer in my original letter, Sir.  I am prepared to follow through with it.”

“I am well aware of what you offered, and as tempting as it is to take you up on it, it was the height of foolishness to even suggest such a thing.  Have you any idea how dangerous it is to do a complete memory share, how much power over yourself you are offering to another person when you do? Only a handful of Master Legilimens in history could safely take what you are offering.”  “I did research it, Sir. I know the risks of a _Legilimens Totalis_ , as I know that you can be counted among the handful of Masters capable of it.  However, if you’ve an alternative suggestion for compensation, I’d gladly hear it.  I don’t fancy being completely vulnerable to anyone, even if I can’t imagine a more concrete way for us to learn to trust one another.”

Severus stared at the teen for a long moment.  He had expected a mumbled apology or a red-faced retort rather than a calm, well-reasoned response.  He sighed. “Perhaps, a compromise, then. In the interest of building trust. Would you consent to be questioned by me, under the influence of veritaserum?  With the knowledge that no topic would be off limits?”

“I would definitely agree to that,” Harry replied, without hesitation.  “Now?”

Severus surprised himself by suggesting that they tour the facility first and hold the ‘interrogation’ until after lunch.  He reasoned with himself that he already knew the boy’s intentions were sincere and if they weren’t, he _was_ a master at mind magic.

Harry was astounded by the Warehouse building.  The Professor had brought him back past the small wing of offices to the reception room so that he could orient himself, then showed him the front entrance (which typically remained locked and closed unless there was an expected visitor) as well as the lavatory and a small kitchenette/tea room.  The rest of the main floor was primarily dedicated to two large, pristine laboratories, one of which was clearly the Professor’s private lab, while the set-up of the other vaguely resembled a much larger, mugle version of the advanced student lab at Hogwarts. Harry couldn’t help his slight smile at the mental comparison.  The older man explained that his private lab could be utilized for both wizard brewing and muggle experimentation, but the larger commercial lab was strictly for muggle ingredients and techniques. Prince Laboratories had apparently been responsible for creating and selling original formulas for a ground-breaking scar reduction cream, a homeopathic analgesic, and a popular anxiety medication (all of which had been cleverly adapted from potions, using ingredients that were safe and effective for muggles).  It was a lucrative and convenient business a for brilliant recluse who required a hideout in the muggle world.

As they opened the door and crossed the threshold into the stairwell, Harry felt the faint shimmer of wards, and looked sharply at the Professor.  

“You can feel them?,”  asked Severus, mildly surprised.

“They’re faint, but yes.”

“Good to know.  You are permitted full access to the building unless I explicitly state otherwise.  I will point out exceptions when we go upstairs to the flat. Your instructors will gain entry through the visitor garage through this door (he indicated the marked exit).  They will use the stairs and get buzzed in on the appropriate floor. The layered wards on the property provide me with advance warning when someone arrives. I will greet them with you tomorrow, and you will know the procedure from that point forward.”  

Harry goggled at the the basement level gym and training room.   There were weights, machines, a large padded training floor, and an entire wall dedicated to a large screen surrounded by a custom display case and shelving system containing books, DVDs, music, fitness attire, and in a locked glass case, a sword and set of daggers.  There was even a small locker-room style bathroom with two stall showers, and a whirlpool tub.

“You will start your day learning yoga and meditation in the courtyard upstairs, but the remainder of your morning will be spent here on physical training, self-defense, and hand-to-hand combat.  I will join you in training on occasion, but will also be brewing this week as well as working in the greenhouse.”

“This is incredible, Sir.”

“This is my retreat from the Wizarding world.  Arabella has been here, but you are the first wizard whom I have ever allowed access.  Do not abuse the privilege.”

“I promise I won’t.

Severus crossed over the built-in wall, and with a smirk, tilted a large tome, entitled _Fitness Through the Ages_.  There was an immediate click, and the entire section of the bookcase opened up like a door, revealing a silver-fronted elevator.   He enjoyed watching the younger wizard’s jaw drop and stay open, even as his wide, amazed eyes made contact.

“Well, Lilson, are you going to come upstairs or stay down here catching flies?”  

Harry closed his jaw with a snap and hurried over the professor, who was entering an access code into the wall panel.  They stepped into the elevator side by side, and Severus pushed the button for the top floor. The doors opened up into a beautiful, modernly decorated flat.  Shades of grey were prevalent, with accents of wine red and cobalt blue, and the furniture looked both high quality and comfortable. The sitting room opened up into a gorgeous, fully appointed professional kitchen.

“We will take meals up here on most training days, and your nutrition-related lessons will also take place in the flat.”

“I’m allowed to use this kitchen,” Harry replied in an awed voice.  Despite his forced servitude at the Dursleys’ home, he truly did enjoy cooking.  It would be a pleasure in such a lovely, open space.

“Yes,” Severus replied.  “Provided that your cooking skills are more advanced than your brewing skills, and you mind your instructor.”

“Oh they are, Sir, and I will.”

The narrow hallway led to three rooms: a small bathroom, a large master bedroom, which Harry was told was off-limits except under emergency circumstances, and a smaller room which was used as a library/spare room.  It had wall-to-wall bookshelves, a small computer desk, a plush sofa, and two comfortable looking oversize armchairs. As he had in the gym, Severus demonstrated how to trigger the trick latches that separated the bookshelves to reveal a second set of shelves containing magical books.  Harry recognized all of his school books as well as several others that he had read in the Hogwarts library.

“You may use this room and any of the books in it at your leisure while you are here.  I only ask that none of the books leave the premises without my express permission.”

Harry eagerly agreed to the very reasonable condition and to the suggestion that he select something to read while the Professor made a few calls and printed the week’s training schedule.  Seeing Severus Snape with a laptop was among Harry’s more bizarre experiences.

Lunch was prepared and eaten companionably at the kitchen bar.  Harry enjoyed a small portion of veggie pasta salad and a delicious turkey sandwich on thick sliced bread.  His small summer stomach typically could not tolerate large meals, but he took to heart his mentor’s insistence that he eat at every opportunity.  

The washing up was quick and efficient, and when there was nothing left to do, Harry gathered his courage and nodded when the Professor asked if he was ready to talk.  They moved to the comfortable sitting room, and Harry did not hesitate to stick out his tongue for the standard three drops of clear, odorless potion.


	10. Interrogation

Severus settled himself on the soft grey sofa, and considered what he hoped to gain from the impending one-sided discussion.  As recently as a few days ago, his disdain for everything  _ Potter _ would surely have impacted (if not guided) his line of questioning.  He would have at least sought to cut the boy down a bit and gain some interesting bargaining chips for the likely occurrence of this entire endeavor exploding in his face.  And yet - the young man in front of him right now was  _ not  _ Potter, he was Evan Lilson, a reluctant celebrity, and he had been nothing but respectful, thoughtful, and appreciative.  Suddenly, the mean spirited questions Severus had always wanted to throw at Potter seemed rather petty and cruel; and the boy’s vulnerability far less tempting.  He wasn’t sure that trust was something he could achieve with anyone, but he would start with knowledge and hope it could lead to understanding. He saw the boy’s eyes glaze over, and began his ‘interrogation.’ 

“State your full name.”

“Harry James Potter, also known as Evan Lilson.”

“Who else knows that you have contacted me?”

“You, me, and Arabella.  That’s all, and I intend to keep it that way unless we discuss it and I have your permission to tell anyone else.”

“Your home address?”

The teen’s brow furrowed. “The only place I’ve ever really considered home is Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in Scotland.  If it has any more of an address than that, I’ve never heard it. My ‘official’ home of record is 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey.”

It was already clear to Severus that there was no love lost between Potter and his relatives.  He was curious about the extent to which the mutual enmity ran. 

“What was the precipitating factor in the discord between you and your relations?”

Harry barked a short laugh. “You mean, why do my relatives hate me?  It’s been that way as long as I can remember. I used to think there was just something wrong with me, but since I turned 11 and found out that I’m a wizard, I realized the biggest issue is that they hate magic - or anything outside of their version of normal, really.  That, and they resent having to take care of me. I don’t think they were ever really given any other option.”

Severus was incredulous at the notion that The Boy Who Lived had not known he was a wizard until his 11th birthday.  He tried not to dwell on the casual manner in which the teenage boy spoke of his lifetime of rejection and criminal neglect from the only blood relatives he had left.  

“Are you comfortable with continuing this line of questioning?”

“Comfortable?” Potter chuckled grimly.  “No. Not bloody likely. I try not to talk about them, but I’d rather you know the real me if we’re going to be working together.”

“Very well.  Do they ever physically harm you?”

“Sometimes, and usually not too badly.  My cousin and his friends used to chase me and beat me.  Uncle Vernon’s always a bit too rough, and likes to find reasons to punish me.  They’re usually careful not to go too far, since they don’t want to waste time and money on any real injuries. I think my magic’s saved me a few times, or it’s at least healed up the worst of it.  They work me pretty hard. It was worse when I was small, but I don’t much mind the chores now that I’m older. The hunger still gets to me, though. And being locked up all the time.”

Suspicions confirmed, Severus decided to move on.  He made a mental note to increase the dosages on the nutritional and growth potions he had planned.  Potter would likely never reach the level of health he would have enjoyed had he remained in his parents’ care, but some of the damage could be reversed.  Severus was not the youngest Potions Master in Britain for nothing. 

“What were your intentions in contacting me and what do you hope to gain from this endeavor?”

“My letter was sincere.  I wanted to apologize, to ask forgiveness, and hoped that you would be willing to help me.  What do I hope to gain? New skills, knowledge - not just the watered down manipulated facts, and a real mentor that I can trust.”

“What makes you believe that I am that mentor, and not the Headmaster?”

“That’s two separate questions.  Professor, even when you’re infuriated with me, you show up for me. I’ve been here less than a day and you’ve already reinforced my belief that you are the only man for this job.  I don’t think anyone else could possibly understand what I have to do and just how poorly equipped I am to do it. With you, I know that any success I have will be hard-earned and of real value.  You won’t spare my feelings, but you will save my life. The Headmaster, well, that’s a bit more complicated. He loves to celebrate me, but when I really need him, he’s nowhere to be found. And he keeps me in the dark all the damn time - filling my head with half truths and playing on my emotions.  It’s like he has some image of what I’m supposed to be and he can’t tolerate any deviation from that, even when I’m striving to be something better. And...” He stopped talking rather abruptly.

“And?”

“And I can’t trust someone who stands by and does nothing while my relatives harm me and my impulsivity puts others in danger,” he whispered.

“Indeed,”  Severus replied softly.  “Lilson, did Miss Granger send you home with a dictionary this summer?   I do not recall you demonstrating this level of intelligent discourse in the five years you have been my student.   Explain why your assignments have not shown your best effort.”

Harry sighed. “I told you I’m not a dunderhead.  I’m not as book smart as Hermione, either. I’m quite good at being what others expect me to be, and let’s just say that it was not in my best interest to be more academically successful than my cousin.  Also, lack of sleep, being the constant recipient of unwanted attention and target of maniacs, and never-ending headaches tend to impact my studies. Oh, and I never have access to my books over the summer, so I’m always playing catch-up in September.”

Severus made another mental note to revisit the headaches.  He wondered if his mind protection measures had made any difference and whether the boy was feeling more clear-headed with his connection to the Dark Lord blocked.  

“You mentioned what you must do in this war.  What has the Headmaster told you about your mission?”

“The short version is that I have to kill  _ Him _ \- the Dark Lord.  The long version is that there was a prophecy - by Trelawney if you can believe it - that says I’m the only one who can.  It’s the reason he lured me to the Department of Mysteries in May. According to Dumbledore,  _ He  _ heard part of the prophecy, but not the whole thing.  He had a follower who head part of it, reported it to him, and then he decided that my parents were the ones to target, he chose me.  When he did that, he set this whole thing in motion, making it so he and I are destined to battle, and apparently only I have the power to fight him - some mysterious power that I’m unaware of, that he may or may not have given me when he attacked me.  The Headmaster seems to think that my capacity to love is my superpower. Well, forgive me, but even on my most Gryffindor days, I’ve never heard of a war that was won by love. All I know for sure is that everyone’s counting on me, a teenager, who doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing, to defeat the most powerful, evil wizard in existence.”  Potter hung his head, as though exhausted by this admission. Severus tool several slow, deep breaths. Albus had neglected to tell him that he had discussed the prophecy with the boy. 

“Did the Headmaster share the whole prophecy with you?”

“Yes.  I can try to recite it for you, but you’d be better off getting it directly from my mind.  It’s probably clearer that way. 

“I can do that - perhaps later when we are already utilizing mind magic.  Did the headmaster tell you who it was that heard the prophecy?” 

“No.  Only that someone was eavesdropping, got caught and removed from the premises.”  

“I see.”  

“If you ask me, it was right stupid to be holding a job interview with a supposed seer in a public place, and couldn’t he have cast a silencing charm as soon as she went into a trance?”   

The boy couldn’t possibly know how vehemently Severus agreed, how he wished things had been different that day.  

“I believe in this instance, the Headmaster had no awareness of the significance of the events until it was too late.”

“I get it, I just….it’s what started this whole mess,”  Harry replied softly. 

“Are you able to forgive it?” the Potions Master surprised himself by asking. 

“Forgive what?”

“The prophecy.  The events of that day.”

“Well, it’s not like anyone could control the prophecy itself.  I’ve seen Trelawney make one - she has no clue when it’s happening and doesn’t remember it afterwards.  I might not be a fan of divination, but there’s no denying that at least some of it is real.” He paused, considering.  

“I wish the prophecy hadn’t happened -  I certainly wish  _ He _ hadn’t chosen me.  Then maybe I’d have parents, maybe I’d just be Harry Potter, average teenage wizard,  but who knows really. It is what it is. I can’t do much with  _ maybe _ .”

“That’s an enlightened attitude.”

“What else have I got?  I’m terrified, but whether I like it or not, everyone’s counting on me.  Placing blame only keeps me angry and splits my focus.”

Inexplicably, Severus felt his anger spark at the boy’s honest acceptance of his fate, his casual forgiveness of Severus’ greatest shame.  He could not hold back his pain-ridden, vicious response. “And what if I told you that I was the follower who overheard the prophecy? That I was ordered to be at the pub when another spy reported that the Headmaster was conducting an interview that afternoon.  Would you believe me if I told you that I would have likely been killed if I had failed to report what I heard? Would you believe that had I any idea what I was setting in motion that day, that I would gladly have suffered any punishment, up to and including death, if I could have changed the outcome?  Would you be so ready to trust me?”

Harry stared at him, green eyes wide and expression stricken.  It took him a full minute to respond. “If you were to tell me that, Sir, I would believe you.  He took a deep breath, his eyes shining with unshed tears. And I would forgive you.” 

“Why!? How could you forgive such a thing?”

Harry’s response was quiet, his green eyes wide and his expression open.  “I know all about the torment of regret. My unwillingness to trust you has already cost me dearly.  I think you’ve suffered enough for your sins, Sir. I would rather have you as my ally than my enemy.”   

Severus was stunned.  His world had just tilted on its axis.  He had just lost control and disclosed one of his deepest regrets and closely held secrets and instead of revulsion and violence, he had received near absolution from the only living soul who could give it.   Did the boy have any idea what had just transpired? It was only his complete trust in his brewing skills that allowed Severus to even accept what had just happened as reality. His veritaserum was  _ perfect _ , and Harry Potter had just forgiven him for inadvertently making him an abused orphan with a permanent target on his back.  He might have remained speechless if the boy hadn’t broken the silence.

“I know you hated my dad and Siri, and you had reasons for hating them, but I don’t think you would have purposefully gotten either of them killed.  And my mother, well, I know she was muggleborn, but it seemed like she was decent to you and didn’t approve of the way either of them acted towards you.   If you can give Dumbledore a pass for not knowing the significance of events at the time, I think you can give yourself a little bit of one too. It’s a lot to take in, but it’s also kind of a relief to know that you were once young and stupid like me.”

“My interaction with your mother in the memory you saw was not an accurate depiction of  my feelings towards her personally or towards muggleborns in general. However, that is not a conversation I am willing to have at this time.  You are correct in your assumption that I did not seek your parents’ deaths. Or yours, for that matter.“

“Then we’re okay, as far as I’m concerned.  Is there anything else you wanted to know? I would have sworn you’d ask me about the potions ingredients you’re always accusing me of stealing.”

Severus saw the olive branch for what it was, and decided to graciously accept it.  There was clearly more to Potter/Lilson than he had ever anticipated. 

“Yes.  About those ingredients.  They didn’t walk away on their own.  If you didn’t take them, who did?”

Harry ran his hand through his messy hair.  He was grateful for the change of subject, and silently apologized to the friends he was about to sell out in the bargain.  “Second year, it was Hermione, though I’d really appreciate it if you’d just keep blaming me for that one. She brewed a successful polyjuice potion that year, which is brilliant.  Less brilliant is how Ron and I used it to pose as Crabbe and Goyle in an attempt to find out who the heir of Slytherin was. Gods we were stupid.”

“I can’t disagree with that.  And your fourth year?”

“Ah, well that was all Crouch, except the gillyweed.  Dobby stole that so I wouldn’t drown in the lake. I didn’t ask for it, but I certainly wasn’t going to turn it down.  I’ll gladly take the blame for that one too. Dobby’s a loyal friend.”

“You are  _ friends _ with Lucius’ mad elf?”

“He’s not Malfoy’s anymore, he’s free.  And he’s more eccentric than mad. That elf risked his life to protect me.  He almost killed me in the process, but his intentions were good. I’ll take all the real allies I can get.”

“Fair enough.”  Severus was beginning to feel like he was in some sort of parallel universe or had accidentally taken a psychotropic drug.  This interview had veered off so far from his intended route that he was wary of asking anything else. One could only have so much of his worldview obliterated in a 24-hour period.  

“One final question, simply to satisfy my curiosity.  How are you able to sneak around the castle at all hours without being more frequently detected?”

The boy at least had the good sense to appear sheepish. “Well, I inherited an invisibility cloak from my dad - Dumbledore is the one who gave it to me.  And I’ve got a magic map.”

“A magic map.”

“Yep.  It’s locked away in my trunk with everything else I own, but I can show you when we get back to school if you want.  You might remember a spare bit of parchment that was rather rude to you a few years back?”

Severus’ eyes widened in recognition, and his eyes narrowed.  “I would indeed like to see those two items when possible.”  _ Damn Albus and his meddling.  What was he playing at giving a vulnerable child the means to wander around alone at night? _

“I believe the potion should be wearing off soon, as our hour is nearly up.  I’ll make us some tea in the meantime.”

Harry waited out the last few minutes and gratefully accepted the tea that was soon placed in front of him.  He was exhausted, physically and mentally and knew he needed time to process everything that had been revealed during his ‘interrogation’.

“I suggest that you rest in the library for a while.  It will help you to recover from the potion and will give you some private time.  I find that I could quite use some of that myself. I’m going to go meditate in the garden for an hour, and we have some errands to run after you’ve rested.  I’ll come back and wake you.”

“Yeah. That would be fine, Sir.  See you in an hour.”

Harry retired to the library and managed to remember to remove his trainers before sprawling unceremoniously on the sofa.  He found a soft blanket draped over the back and pulled it on top of himself. Despite all of the unexpected revelations of the previous hour, he knew without question that he was safe here, and he drifted into sleep with uncommon ease.  

Outside in the comfort of his meditation garden, Severus Snape sought to regain his sense of balance and control.  If there was anything he disliked more than being ignorant and ill informed, it was being dead wrong, despite having all necessary information.  He took deep, cleansing breaths with the uncomfortable but incontrovertible knowledge that, with the exception of joining the Dark Lord, he had never been more wrong about anything than he had been about Harry Potter.

 


	11. Preparations and Revelations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n No warnings for this brief chapter. Thank you so very much to everyone who is taking the time to read, leave kudos, and comment on this story. It means more to me than you could possibly know. I'm working slowly, but there's much more to come.

Harry woke slowly, to the feeling of someone gently shaking his shoulder.  It was a testament to how safe he felt at the warehouse, and how much he truly trusted the Professor that he had been able to rest at all in an unfamiliar place much less wake up without a bit of panic.

“How are you feeling?” the older man asked his young apprentice.  His voice was gentle, his face inscrutable, but somehow softer than usual. 

“M’fine,” replied Harry, with a small yawn.  “Thanks for letting me rest. It seems I really did need it.  I had no idea how tiring it would be to answer questions.” He sat up, and stretched, relishing the well-rested, calm state of his body.   

“It’s the potion.  It’s much worse if you try to fight it.”  Severus paused, then looked Harry directly in the eye.  “Mr. - Harry,” he began stiffly, pointedly ignoring immediately widened eyes and raised eyebrows on the young man’s face. “It will likely not surprise you to know that I have little tolerance for ignorance and ineptitude.  And yet, I find that where you are concerned, I have been both the willing victim of a campaign of ignorance and the willful perpetrator of my own childish prejudices and grievances. I am aggrieved to admit that I have been shocked by some of the things I have observed and heard over the past two days, and I am acutely aware that I have both misjudged and mistreated you during the entirety of our previous association.”

Harry was utterly gobsmacked.  “I - I think we misjudged each other, sir.  I know my own behavior only reinforced your assumptions. Even if you had been kinder to me, I doubt I would have confided in you about my circumstances.  I am rather skilled at hiding the things I don’t want others to see.”

“I think we shall make good use of that skill, you and I.”  Harry nodded in agreement. 

“Although I am not known to be a kind man, I have always sought to take responsibility for my shortcomings and to learn from my errors.  I wish, therefore, to make amends, and to assure you that I will make every effort to ensure that when we are alone or here in the muggle world, you will receive no unearned vitriol from me from this point forward.“  

Still unsettled by this unexpected turn of events, Harry dared a cheeky response.  “So...only  _ earned _ vitriol, then?”  

Severus rewarded him with a raised eyebrow and a very faint smirk.  “Naturally.”

Harry nodded, smiling, and stood, extending his hand to Severus.  “Thank you, Sir,” he said with obvious feeling. His hand was clasped, without hesitation, and firmly shaken.  “What’s next?”

Severus outlined plans for the remainder of the afternoon.  Harry was surprised to note that they included a muggle shopping trip to obtain clothing and supplies needed for his training.  This, of course, led to a strategy discussion about minimizing the possibility of Harry being recognized. It was improbable, but neither was willing to risk their lives on the assumption that they were far removed from the wizarding world.  They finally agreed on some minor glamour charms that would differentiate Evan Lilson from Harry Potter (i.e., a slightly longer, more manageable hairstyle in a lighter shade of brown, and hazel eyes that were not quite so recognizable as Harry’s well-known green.  When Severus tentatively brought up the subject of eyesight correction, Harry was in equal parts astounded and infuriated that he hadn’t even known it was possible to do so temporarily with a spell (typically used for minors) and permanently with a complex, costly potion regimen (available to those who are of age).  The two agreed to a spell for now as well as a trial of muggle contact lenses to be obtained as soon as Evan’s identification was sorted. Severus was loathe to suggest muggle corrective surgery. Despite its general reliability, this particular young man was known for being the exception to every rule.  

Thus, the  dark blue-eyed, auburn-haired professor and his shaggy-brown-haired, spectacle-free protege took a nondescript sedan to the closest shopping district, where they purchased a variety of athletic wear, trainers, and general provisions for the days ahead.    Although Harry was a bit thrown off by his reflection once or twice, he concluded that he quite liked his altered looks and he positively adored his anonymity. 

They were heading back to the car park when they heard a nearby voice call out.

“Stefano, is that you?!”

Both men froze, stiffened slightly, and turned to the voice.  Harry’s eyes flicked to the Professor’s, and he relaxed as he took in the surprised smile on the older man’s face.  

“Antonio!  What a lovely surprise to see you.”  ‘Steven’ stretched his hand out in greeting.  Harry could not help the widening of his eyes as he watched the most handsome man he’d ever seen gently push the hand away and embrace the Professor warmly, kissing him on both cheeks.  Clearly, the tall, very fit, olive-skinned man was familiar to the professor. 

As the men pulled apart, Antonio’s eyes rested on Harry.  “And who is this beautiful young man?”

“My  _ apprentice _ , Evan Lilson.  Evan, may I introduce Antonio Bonasera - an old friend.”

Harry desperately hoped he was not blushing as he shook the man’s hand.  “A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Bonasera.”

The man laughed delightedly, his dark brown eyes crinkling.  “None of that. It’s Antonio, please.”   

Harry smiled, feeling the slight flush of his traitorous skin.  “Alright. Please call me Evan.” 

Antonio turned back to the Professor.  “I was filling in at a friend’s salon as a favor. Between that and the restaurant, I thought I wouldn’t have the opportunity to welcome you home until at least Sunday.   Nico is so looking forward to see you. He’s spoken of nothing else since your call yesterday.”  

Harry saw ‘Steven’s’ subtle scan of his friend’s features, unsure of what his mentor was looking for, but noting with satisfaction the slight relaxing of the man’s features.  “I am looking forward to it as well. It has been too long. I appreciate him taking time from the restaurant to work with us this week and I hope it is not stretching either of you too thin.”

Antonio smiled warmly, waving his hand in denial.  “Of course it is no trouble. We have  _ both _ missed you, Stefano.”  He glanced at Harry, including him in the warm exchange.  “I insist that you both come to the restaurant for dinner.  Nico will be able to join us this early, and you both look like you need some more meat on you.”  Harry wasn’t sure how to respond to the juxtaposition of an Italian male model and Mrs. Weasley that formed in his mind as he heard Antonio’s words and saw the man look him and the Professor over with a kind but critical eye.  He looked to ‘Steven” with his eyebrows raised. He had no clue what the protocol was here, and he was becoming increasingly more aware of the degree to which he had accidentally insinuated himself into the older man’s private life in a single day.    

“We cannot make a late night of it”, ‘Steven” warned.  “I must have Evan returned to his guardians no later than seven.”

“Not a problem!,” responded Antonio, with a quick check of his expensive-looking gold wristwatch.  Harry definitely wasn’t captivated by the contrast between the glimmering gold and the man’s perfect olive skin.  Nope. Not at all.  

‘Steven’ smiled gently and nodded.  “Very well. It’s only a fool that turns down Dominic’s food.  You are in for a treat, Evan.”

To Harry’s relief, Severus gave him a brief, if undetailed, description of his muggle friends on the way to the restaurant.  Dominic Sorrento, chef, was one of ‘Steven Prince’s” oldest friends in the muggle world. He was older than Steven and had taken him under his wing, resulting in a lasting relationship despite sporadic contact and the obvious differences and secrets between them.  Harry was particularly interested to learn that Dominic would be one of his muggle instructors.  

Antonio, a sought-after stylist, was Dominic’s lover of 10 years, and was apparently older than he looked.    (Harry nearly snorted at the Professor’s assessing glance when he revealed the relationship between the two men - as if Harry would have any problem with same sex relationships, even before he realized his own attraction to men this past spring. He had learned long ago that Vernon and Petunia’s opinions were not to be trusted, and had made a point of being open minded about anything those two bigots considered “abnormal” or “unnatural.”)  He could not help but wonder, briefly, about his Professor’s own preferences.  

Antonio had a following of private clients and assisted Dominic in the front of his restaurant whenever possible.  Both men were from Italy, but preferred their quiet life in Britain. ‘Steven’ had not seen them in person for nearly two years, but wrote to them frequently.   They obviously knew nothing about magic or the wizarding world, believing that ‘Steven” had been abroad teaching and researching at a small muggle college. From the Professor’s tone, Harry thought there was rather more to that, but refrained from asking more than he needed to know.  He had learned that lesson the hard way.  

Ristorante Sorrento was a lovely Italian eatery that managed to feel both upscale and comfortable at the same time.  Harry liked it instantly, and if the amazing smells were anything to go by, he was about to be quite well fed. Antonio had met them at the door, ushering them into the quiet dining room and seating them at a private table that gave them a view of the entire room.  

“I’ll be right back,” Antonio said with an excited smile, before conversing quickly with a waiter and heading back towards the kitchen to get Dominic.  When he returned a minute later, he was accompanied by a shorter, more muscular, older man, who was quite handsome in his own right. Dominic had salt and pepper hair, chocolate brown eyes, and strong, masculine features, which were offset by large dimples that framed a wide, lovely smile.  

“Il mio bel Principe!” he exclaimed as he caught sight of ‘Steven,’ and he rushed to crush the (now standing) younger, taller man in a tight hug, pulling him down to kiss him on each cheek as Antonio had done earlier.  “You stay away too long this time. How we have missed you!”

“I have missed you as well,” ‘Steven” replied, with real feeling.  He gestured to Harry. “Let me introduce you to my apprentice, Evan.  Evan, this is my dear friend, Chef Dominic Sorrento.”  

“It’s a great pleasure to meet you, Chef Sorrento.”

The older man beamed at him.  “I am Nic to my friends, and we are going to be good friends, no?”

“I certainly hope so,” ‘Evan’ replied.  “Your restaurant is beautiful, Nic.”  

Dominic smiled again.  “It is a labor of love, one I am so happy to share with you.   Now come, sit, let’s get acquainted, yes?”

“Yes,” ‘Evan’ responded, with a genuine smile.

Dominic’s ebullient personality and his clear, genuine love for Steven made him warm, comfortable company, despite the necessary subterfuge on the part of the two wizards.  The older man found ways to ask after his dear friend and his new acquaintance without prying or pushing for details; and his stories about his and Antonio’s recent travels were vibrant and funny.   After assuring the chef of his openness to any of the food options available, Harry was treated to the most delicious meal he had ever encountered. His only regret was that he could not safely eat a single bite more.  He did not argue when Dominic insisted on sending him home with a care package. While Vernon and Petunia weren’t fit to even smell Nic’s food, Harry rather thought that Arabella and Dudley might enjoy some.  

Harry and Severus left the restaurant after a round of farewell embraces and kisses, their bellies full and their relaxed state a welcome departure for both of them.  

“Thank you,” Harry said, quietly and reverently, once they were seated in the car.  “Thank you for sharing them with me.” He hoped that the brilliant man next to him heard the words he did not say, -  _ thank you for helping me, for trusting me, for letting me see you, for sharing something precious of your own _ .     

“You are most welcome.” was the only reply, and the remainder of their ride back to the warehouse was shared in companionable silence.


End file.
